DOWN   TO    THE    SEA 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 


BY 

MORGAN   ROBERTSON 


AUTOGRAPH  EDITION 

PUBLISHED  BY 

McCLURE'S  MAGAZINE 

AND 

METROPOLITAN  MAGAZINE 


Copyright,  1905,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  March,  1905. 


THE  QUINN  A  BOOEN  CO.  PRESS 
RAHWAY,  N.  J. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT       ...  1 
A  Cow,  Two  MEN,  AND  A  PARSON     .        .        .20 

THE  RIVALS 28 

A  CHEMICAL  COMEDY 49 

A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH 56 

THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN  ....  71 

THE  TORPEDO .  89 

THE    SUBMARINE 110 

FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN 128 

THE  ENEMIES 152 

THE  VITALITY  OF  DENNIS        ....  18,1 

THE   HELIX 187 

THE   SHARK 199 

THE  MUTINY  218 


962 


'-^ 


DOWN   TO    THE    SEA 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT 

is\  \  7HILE  my  child  lives  and  I  am  here'  t6  teach 
V  V  him,  he  will  not  know  the  nresnhjg.  of.  tte 
words  light,  color,  and  darkness.  He  will  grow  up 
ignorant  of  his  condition  and  will  be  educated  from 
expurgated  books  for  the  blind.  I  shall  be  his 
teacher,  and  as  far  as  in  my  power  I  shall  lighten 
his  curse."  Thus  spoke  the  father  to  the  physicians 
who  had  examined  the  expressionless  blue  eyes  of  his 
infant  son.  "  No  hope,"  they  had  said.  The  trouble 
was  with  the  optic  nerve  or  the  inner  connection  with 
the  brain.  He  would  never  know  light  from  dark 
ness,  though  the  eye,  being  well  nourished,  would 
grow  with  the  body  and  retain  its  color. 

The  wife  and  mother  had  died  in  giving  birth  to 
the  little  one,  and  as  there  were  no  solicitous  rela 
tives  on  either  side  to  interfere,  the  doubly  afflicted 
man  was  free  to  educate  his  child  as  he  wished.  He 
erected  a  high  wall  around  his  property,  gave  em 
phatic  notice  to  the  villagers  to  keep  out,  and  re 
tired  into  the  darkened  world  of  his  son.  While  none 
approved  of  his  plan,  few  cared  to  question  or  openly 
criticise  the  stern,  iron-faced  man  who  occasionally 
appeared  on  the  streets,  and  in  time,  as  they  died  off 
or  moved  away,  the  strange  existence  unfolding 
within  those  high  walls  was  forgotten. 

The  child  grew,  healthy  and  strong.  With  his 
father  for  teacher  and  a  few  trusted  servants  his 
only  companions,  he  passed  his  childhood  and  early 
youth,  and  was  educated  as  are  the  blind — with  this 
difference:  nothing  was  taught  him  that  in  his  fa- 


2  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

ther's  judgment  would  lead  him  into  inquiry  as  to  his 
true  condition.  His  four  remaining  senses  became 
abnormally  keen ;  he  heard  distant  sounds  that  others 
could  not  detect,  could  taste  an  odor  in  the  air,  and 
"could -.feetl,; ;  besides  colors,  the  faintest  of  shadows  on 
'the  wall-^Which  latter  changing  phenomenon  was 
<M£cfibe(i:to;h'im  as  an  uncertain  attribute  of  heat. 

In  him,  too,  developed  to  a  remarkable  degree 
what  has  been  called  the  magnetic  sense,  which  en 
ables  the  blind  to  distinguish  the  proximity  of  a  solid 
object  or  an  open  space.  So  strong  was  this  percep 
tion  that  he  needed  no  cane  to  traverse  at  a  run  the 
rooms  and  passages  of  the  house  or  the  winding 
paths  of  the  garden.  And,  to  reduce  the  list  of  em 
bargoed  words,  and  because  in  a  measure  it  did  the 
work  of  his  missing  sense,  to  this  faculty  was  given 
the  name  sight.  Hence  he  would  say  that  he  "  saw  " 
something,  when  he  merely  meant  that  he  felt  its 
presence. 

To  the  extent  that  he  was  influenced  by  external 
impressions,  he  was  happy ;  but  instincts  within  him, 
aided  by  maturing  reasoning  power,  tended,  as  he 
neared  manhood,  to  arouse  his  suspicion.  The 
sounds  beyond  the  garden  wall,  the  making  of  his 
clothes  by  some  one  unknown  to  him,  the  occasional 
presence  of  silent  men  who  worked  quickly  with  tools 
and  made  changes  in  doors  and  passages,  the  con 
tinuous  supply  of  food  from  without,  and  the  great 
front  door,  locked  from  his  earliest  remembrance, 
were  problems  to  his  now  logical  mind  that  he  would 
solve.  They  indicated  the  existence  of  a  sphere  of 
action  far  beyond  his  present  environment;  so  he 
tortured  his  father  with  speculations,  and  his  educa 
tion  stopped. 

"  I  have  taught  him  too  much,"  said  the  unhappy 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT          3 

man.  "  I  started  wrong.  I  should  have  made  him 
deaf  and  dumb  before  I  began." 

The  father  took  refuge  in  direct  deceit,  ascribing 
some  of  the  phenomena  which  troubled  the  boy  to  the 
great  unknown,  others  to  the  wisdom  and  experience 
of  other  men,  which  would  come  to  him  in  time.  He 
thus  temporarily  eliminated  all  factors  but  one — 
that  of  the  locked  front  door;  and  could  only  meet 
the  boy's  demand  to  be  allowed  passage  through  by 
a  downright  refusal.  The  result  was  a  stormy 
scene. 

The  father  retired  to  his  study  sorrowing  over 
the  first  harsh  words  he  had  given  his  son,  and  the 
boy  went  out  into  the  evening  and  sought  the  ex 
treme  corner  of  the  garden,  where,  sitting  on  a  rustic 
bench  and  brooding  rebelliously  over  the  sudden  ap 
pearance  of  boundaries  to  his  investigations,  he  heard 
among  the  strange  yet  familiar  sounds  from  beyond 
the  wall  a  new  one,  and  felt  the  presence  of  some  one 
near  and  above  him.  Not  needing  to  raise  his  head 
to  assist  his  consciousness,  he  asked:  "Who  is  it?" 

"  Me,"  came  a  musical  voice. 

"  Who  ?  "  he  asked  again,  with  a  puzzled  face. 

"  Oh,  auntie  says  I'm  a  tomboy.  Do  you  live 
here?  My!  what  a  pretty  garden.  May  I  come 
down?" 

"  Yes,  come,"  he  answered,  understanding  the  re 
quest. 

"  Look  out !  No.  I'll  get  the  ladder.  I  couldn't 
climb  back  if  I  jumped." 

A  black-eyed,  dark-haired  sprite  of  fifteen  on  top 
of  the  wall  pulled  up  a  ladder,  lowered  it,  and  clam 
bered  down. 

"  You're  not  polite — you  might  have  helped  me," 
she  said,  with  a  coquettish  flirt  of  her  curls  as  she 


4  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

faced  the  immovable  boy.  "  What's  your — oh,  I 
didn't  know.  I'm  so  sorry." 

Tears  came  to  her  eyes  and  a  look  of  womanly 
pity  swept  over  her  childish  face.  She  had  seen  his 
expressionless,  half-closed  eyes. 

"Sorry?  What  for?"  he  asked.  "Sorry  you 
came?  I'm  glad.  Who  are  you?"  he  passed  his 
hand  lightly  over  her  shoulders  and  face. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you ;  I  didn't  know  you  were  blind. 
Indeed,  I  didn't." 

"Blind?  What  is  that?  You  are  a  boy  like  me, 
aren't  you?  But  your  hair  is  dark  while  mine  is 
light.  How  old  are  you?  I  am  eighteen." 

"  No,  I'm  not  a  boy,"  she  answered,  indignantly. 
"  I  thought  you  were  blind,  but  you  can  see  my  hair. 
You  mustn't  handle  me  like  this — 'you  mustn't.  I'll 
go  back." 

He  felt  that  he  had  offended  her,  and  instinctively 
— for  entertaining  visitors  as  well  as  a  perilous 
knowledge  of  another  sex  had  not  been  included  in 
his  curriculum — he*  became  deferential,  and  invited 
her  to  sit  down.  She  did  so,  at  a  safe  distance,  which 
he  respected. 

"  Nice  evening,  isn't  it?  "  she  said,  breaking  the 
embarrassing  silence;  but  before  he  could  answer 
this  puzzling  remark  she  went  on : 

"  What  ails  your  eyes  ?  What  makes  you  keep 
them  half  closed  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Do  I?  "  He  felt  of  them,  opened 
them  wide,  and  turned  his  face  toward  her.  "  Tell 
me  about  yourself,"  he  resumed.  "  Where  do  you 
come  from?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  live  here,"  said  the  maiden.  "  I'm 
just  visiting  Aunt  Mary,  and  thought  I'd  climb  the 
fence.  I  don't  live  anywhere ;  I've  been  aboard  papa's 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT         5 

ship  all  my  life.  He's  coming  for  me  to-day,  for  we 
sail  to-morrow.  We're  going  to  Shanghai  this  voy- 
age." 

It  was  unintelligible,  but  from  the  list  of  strange 
words  he  selected  one  and  asked  what  a  ship  was. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?  A  vessel  square  rigged 
on  all  three  masts.  The  Franklyn  carries  double  to'- 
gallant  sails  and  sky  sail  yards.  Papa  says  he  will 
try  her  with  stunsails  next  voyage." 

"  I  never  learned  of  these  things,"  said  the  boy. 
"  You  say  you  live  in  a  ship.  Is  it  a  house  with  a 
garden— like  this?" 

"  Oh,  the  idea !  No,"  she  laughed,  merrily ;  but 
the  laugh  changed  to  a  little  scream.  "  There's  a 
caterpillar ! "  she  said.  "  Take  it  away,  quick ! 
Knock  it  off !  Ugh ! "  She  sprang  toward  him. 
"  On  my  dress,"  she  explained. 

"What?  Where?  What  is  it?"  he  answered, 
reaching  out  both  hands  in  the  vacant  air.  His 
knowledge  of  caterpillars  was  nearly  as  limited  as 
his  knowledge  of  dresses.  She  brushed  the  creeping 
thing  away  with  her  handkerchief,  and,  sitting  down, 
composed  herself  much  as  a  bird  smooths  its  ruffled 
feathers;  then  looked  intently  at  the  sightless  eyes 
of  the  boy,  staring  high  over  her  head. 

"  What  was  it?  "  he  asked.     "  What  hurt  you?  " 

"  Nothing ;  it's  all  right  now.  You  are  blind, 
aren't  you  ?  "  she  said,  gently. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  a  little  impatiently. 
"  You  said  that  before.  What  does  blind  mean?  " 

"  Why,  you  can't  see." 

"  Yes,  I  can." 

"  But  your  eyes  were  wide  open  and  you  didn't 
see  the  caterpillar.  It  was  right  under  your  nose, 
too." 


6  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  I  don't  see  with  my  nose.  And  what  difference 
does  it  make  if  my  eyes  were  open?  What  are  they 
good  for,  anyway  ?  " 

"  To  see  with,  of  course.    Didn't  you  know?  " 

"To  see  with?  Eyes  are  good  to  see  with?  Do 
you  see  with  your  eyes?  " 

"  Yes.  Didn't  you  really  know  what  eyes  were 
for?  Didn't  you  know  that  they  were  to  see  with? 
Couldn't  you  see  when  you  were  little?  " 

"  Not  with  my  eyes.  I  see  with  something  inside 
of  me;  a  sort  of  consciousness  of  things.  How  do 
you  see  with  your  eyes?  What  is  it  like?  I  thought 
I  was  the  same  as  other  people." 

"  Why,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a  little  quaver 
in  her  voice,  "  we  see  the  sky,  and  the  sun,  and  the 
stars,  and  flowers,  and  people,  and  houses,  and — 
and —  Oh,  we  see  everything — that  is,  in  daytime. 
In  the  night  we  can't  see  because  it's  dark."  She 
was  crying,  softly. 

"  How  far  away  can  you  see  with  your  eyes  ?  " 
asked  the  boy,  eagerly.  "  I  can  see  six  feet." 

"  Oh,  we  can  see  miles  and  miles.  We  can  see 
everything  in  front  of  us." 

"  And  is  every  one  that  way  but  me  ?  " 

"  Most  every  one.  There  are  a  few  blind  people. 
But,  tell  me,"  said  the  girl,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  how 
do  you  know  the  color  of  my  hair?  " 

"  With  my  fingers.  Do  you  tell  colors  with  your 
eyes?" 

"  Mary !  Bear  a  hand  now,  my  girl,"  came  a  voice 
over  the  wall.  "  Where  are  you?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  papa !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  must 
go."  She  moved  toward  the  ladder.  "  Good-by." 

"  Don't  go  !  "  he  cried,  following  her.  "  Don't  go. 
Come  back." 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT         7 

She  turned,  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
kissed  him.  "  Oh,  you  poor  boy ! — poor  boy !  "  she 
cried,  in  a  choking  voice.  "  Stone  blind  and  you 
never  knew  it."  She  kissed  him  again,  then  bounded 
jp  the  ladder  and  over  the  wall. 

Not  once  within  his  memory  had  the  boy  felt  the 
pressure  of  lips  to  his  own,  and  this  pure  kiss  of  an 
nnocent,  childish  girl — his  initial  experience — be 
came  a  turning-point  in  his  life;  for  it  outweighed 
every  other  influence  and  consideration  known  to 
lira. 

With  the  kiss  still  warm  on  his  lips,  he  felt  for  the 
adder,  climbed  to  the  top  and  called,  repeatedly, 
the  name  he  had  heard :  "  Mary !  " 

He  was  not  answered.  But  his  sensitive  ear  dis- 
inguished  the  sound  of  retreating  footsteps — long 
md  heavy,  light  and  pattering — with  the  lessening 
aurmur  of  a  sweet  voice,  which  dwindled  as  he 
istened  until  it  became  as  the  tinkle  of  a  distant 
jell;  and  when  this  was  hushed  in  the  silence  of  the 
ummer  night,  he  descended  to  the  bench,  feeling  as 
light  a  lost  soul  called  to  paradise  only  to  receive 
entence  of  doom. 

"  Stone  blind  and  you  never  knew  it."  He  re- 
icated  her  last  words  again  and  again,  for  they  rang 
n  his  ears.  Others  could  see  with  their  eyes  and  he 
ould  not.  Why?  They  could  see  things  far  away 
md  he  could  see  but  six  feet.  Why  was  it?  Why 
ad  his  father,  from  whom  he  had  received  every- 
hing,  denied  him  this?  And  why,  having  denied  him, 
lid  he  prevent  him  from  going  out  through  the  door, 
•here  perhaps  others  would  give  him  this  wondrous 
acuity?  It  was  wrong,  unjust,  shameful.  Mary 
*as  kinder  than  his  father. 

As  he  thought  of  the  generous  sympathy  of  the 


6  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  I  don't  see  with  my  nose.  And  what  difference 
does  it  make  if  my  eyes  were  open?  What  are  they 
good  for,  anyway  ?  " 

"  To  see  with,  of  course.    Didn't  you  know  ?  " 

"To  see  with?  Eyes  are  good  to  see  with?  Do 
you  see  with  your  eyes?  " 

"  Yes.  Didn't  you  really  know  what  eyes  were 
for?  Didn't  you  know  that  they  were  to  see  with? 
Couldn't  you  see  when  you  were  little?  " 

"  Not  with  my  eyes.  I  see  with  something  inside 
of  me;  a  sort  of  consciousness  of  things.  How  do 
you  see  with  your  eyes?  What  is  it  like?  I  thought 
I  was  the  same  as  other  people." 

"  Why,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a  little  quaver 
in  her  voice,  "  we  see  the  sky,  and  the  sun,  and  the 
stars,  and  flowers,  and  people,  and  houses,  and — 
and —  Oh,  we  see  everything — that  is,  in  daytime. 
In  the  night  we  can't  see  because  it's  dark."  She 
was  crying,  softly. 

"  How  far  away  can  you  see  with  your  eyes  ?  " 
asked  the  boy,  eagerly.  "  I  can  see  six  feet." 

"  Oh,  we  can  see  miles  and  miles.  We  can  see 
everything  in  front  of  us." 

"  And  is  every  one  that  way  but  me  ?  " 

"  Most  every  one.  There  are  a  few  blind  people. 
But,  tell  me,"  said  the  girl,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  how 
do  you  know  the  color  of  my  hair?  " 

"  With  my  fingers.  Do  you  tell  colors  with  your 
eyes?" 

"  Mary !  Bear  a  hand  now,  my  girl,"  came  a  voice 
over  the  wall.  "  Where  are  you?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  papa !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  must 
go."  She  moved  toward  the  ladder.  "  Good-by." 

"  Don't  go  !  "  he  cried,  following  her.  "  Don't  go. 
Come  back." 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT         7 

She  turned,  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
kissed  him.  "  Oh,  you  poor  boy ! — poor  boy !  "  she 
cried,  in  a  choking  voice.  "  Stone  blind  and  you 
never  knew  it."  She  kissed  him  again,  then  bounded 
up  the  ladder  and  over  the  wall. 

Not  once  within  his  memory  had  the  boy  felt  the 
pressure  of  lips  to  his  own,  and  this  pure  kiss  of  an 
innocent,  childish  girl — his  initial  experience — be 
came  a  turning-point  in  his  life;  for  it  outweighed 
every  other  influence  and  consideration  known  to 
him. 

With  the  kiss  still  warm  on  his  lips,  he  felt  for  the 
ladder,  climbed  to  the  top  and  called,  repeatedly, 
the  name  he  had  heard :  "  Mary !  " 

He  was  not  answered.  But  his  sensitive  ear  dis 
tinguished  the  sound  of  retreating  footsteps — long 
and  heavy,  light  and  pattering — with  the  lessening 
murmur  of  a  sweet  voice,  which  dwindled  as  he 
listened  until  it  became  as  the  tinkle  of  a  distant 
bell;  and  when  this  was  hushed  in  the  silence  of  the 
summer  night,  he  descended  to  the  bench,  feeling  as 
might  a  lost  soul  called  to  paradise  only  to  receive 
sentence  of  doom. 

"  Stone  blind  and  you  never  knew  it."  He  re 
peated  her  last  words  again  and  again,  for  they  rang 
in  his  ears.  Others  could  see  with  their  eyes  and  he 
could  not.  Why?  They  could  see  things  far  away 
and  he  could  see  but  six  feet.  Why  was  it?  Why 
had  his  father,  from  whom  he  had  received  every 
thing,  denied  him  this  ?  And  why,  having  denied  him, 
did  he  prevent  him  from  going  out  through  the  door, 
where  perhaps  others  would  give  him  this  wondrous 
faculty?  It  was  wrong,  unjust,  shameful.  Mary 
was  kinder  than  his  father. 

As  he  thought  of  the  generous  sympathy  of  the 


10  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

corner.  Me  husband  was  blind — rist  his  sowl.  I'll 
give  ye  a  bite." 

She  fed  him,  questioned  him  without  results, 
watched  his  head  sink  on  the  table  in  the  lethargy 
of  exhaustion,  and  put  him  to  bed,  with  injunctions 
to  her  grandson.  Tim,  to  "  lave  him  be."  Then  she 
went  to  her  apple-stand. 

She  had  returned  at  nightfall  and  prepared  her 
supper  before  he  awakened;  then  the  mutual  ques 
tionings  were  resumed.  A  stubborn  pride  prevented 
him  speaking  of  his  father,  or  of  himself  beyond 
asking  how  he  could  learn  to  see  with  his  eyes;  but 
he  demanded  persistently  to  be  taken  to  the  ship 
and  Mary,  and  became  so  urgent  that  the  old  woman 
finally  called  her  grandson. 

"  Tim,"  she  said,  "  take  him  down  to  the  docks  a 
bit  and  try  and  find  his  friends.  He's  lost,  poor  b'y, 
an'  a  bit  daft.  Mebbe  he  came  from  some  ship  close 
by.  Bring  him  back  if  ye  don't  find  them,  Tim." 

The  only  description  of  Tim  that  this  story  re 
quires  is  that  he  was  a  typical  gamin,  fond  of  dog 
fights,  one  of  which,  in  a  near-by  vacant  lot,  he  was 
now  missing. 

"  Dere's  a  ship  bound  out  to-morrer,  two  docks 
down,"  he  said  as  they  started.  "  Is  dat  de  one  yer 
lookin'  fur?" 

"  Does  Mary  live  there  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Dunno ;  her  name's  Mary,  I  think — Mary  some- 
thin'.  Let's  hurry." 

They  hurried — from  different  motives — and  soon 
reached  the  dock,  where,  standing  close  up  to  the 
black,  flaring  bow  of  a  full-rigged,  deep-laden  ship, 
Tim  spelled  out,  in  the  light  of  a  neighboring  street- 
lamp,  the  name  Mary  Croft,  in  gilt  letters  on  the 
topgallant  rail. 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT        II 

"  Mary,  sure  'nough,"  he  said ;  "  is  that  de  one  ?  " 

"  Is  it  Mary  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  in  a  frenzy  of  ex 
citement.  "  Mary  !  "  he  called.  "  Mary ! " 

"  C'm'  on,"  said  Tim,  laconically.  He  piloted  him 
to  the  long  gangplank,  placed  his  hands  on  the  man- 
rope,  and  said :  "  G'wan  up ;  dat's  de  ship  yer  lookin' 
fur,  I  guess,"  then  sped  to  the  dog-fight. 

Slowly,  yet  eagerly,  the  blind  boy  ascended  the 
gangplank,  felt  the  grating  and  steps  inside  the  rail, 
and  descended  to  the  deck,  calling  the  name  of  the 
girl  whose  magnetic  sympathy  had  enchanted  him 
from  home;  but,  as  the  only  soul  on  board  was  the 
watchman,  very  properly  sound  asleep  in  a  forecastle 
bunk  on  the  last  night  of  his  job,  the  boy's  call  was 
not  answered.  Just  abreast  of  the  gangway  was 
the  booby,  or  hatch-house,  which  led  to  a  "  'tween 
deck  "  below,  formed  by  the  extended  poop  or  half- 
deck  on  which  he  stood.  He  felt  the  proximity  of 
this  hatch-house,  and  reached  it,  finding  in  the  after 
part  a  door  unlocked,  which  he  opened ;  then  he  called 
again  for  Mary. 

Hearing  no  answer,  he  stepped  in  with  his  hands 
on  the  sliding  hood  above  the  door.  But  his  foot 
encountered  emptiness,  the  hood  slid  back  from  the 
pressure  of  his  weight,  and  he  fell  heavily  to  the  deck 
below,  where,  striking  his  head  against  a  cask,  he  lay 
quiet.  Toward  midnight  he  aroused  to  a  half-con 
sciousness,  crawled  aimlessly  about  twenty  feet,  and 
swooned  again.  Here  he  lay  screened  from  observa 
tion  until  the  officers  and  crew  had  come  aboard  in 
the  morning,  the  ship  had  been  towed  to  sea,  and  the 
pilot  was  preparing  to  step  into  the  waiting  dinghy 
which  would  take  him  to  the  station  boat  near  the 
Sandy  Hook  Lightship.  Then  he  was  seen  groping 
under  the  hatch.  He  was  hauled  to  the  deck  and  into 


12  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

the  presence  of  the  captain  and  officers,  a  pitiable 
spectacle,  with  clothing  soiled  from  the  filth  of  the 
"  'tween  deck,"  his  sightless  eyes  staring  from  deep 
hollows  in  his  livid  face,  and  his  temples  streaked 
with  congealed  blood  from  a  cut  in  his  head. 

"  Stowaway !  "  grunted  the  captain,  glaring  on  the 
trembling  boy,  weak  from  shock  and  seasickness. 
"  All  right.  You'll  get  enough  of  it." 

"  That's  no  stowaway,  captain,"  said  the  pilot, 
with  one  leg  over  the  rail.  "  He's  blind  as  a  bat. 
I'll  take  him  ashore  if  you  say  so." 

"  What  do  you  say,  you  young  brat?  "  bawled  the 
captain.  "  We're  short-handed,  and  you  can  stay 
if  you  want  to.  Do  you  want  to  go  ashore,  or  do 
you  want  to  stay  in  the  ship?  " 

"  I  would  rather  stay  in  the  ship.  I  want  to  see 
Mary." 

The  pilot  was  in  a  hurry,  and,  hearing  the  first 
part  of  the  sentence,  slid  down  the  side  out  of  hear 
ing  of  the  last  part — which  might  have  delayed  his 
departure  had  he  heard  it.  And  in  this  ship  the  boy 
went  to  the  southward,  while  the  pilot  went  ashore. 

The  Mary  Croft  was,  or  had  beer.,  a  composite 
ship — that  is,  wooden  planked  over  iron  frames.  But 
this,  among  the  other  characteristics  of  her  class, 
was  all  that  was  left  her.  During  a  long  career, 
marked  by  innumerable  dismastings  and  refittings, 
she  had  lost  her  iron  spars  and  wire  rigging,  and  had 
reverted  to  an  old-fashioned  wood  and  hemp.  She 
was  laden  with  kerosene  oil  in  tin  cases,  was  bound 
to  the  antipodes,  and  was  manned  with  the  usual 
short-handed  crew,  representative  of  all  nations,  so 
dear  to  the  heart  of  the  American  captain. 

Without  being  asked  as  to  his  name  or  for  an  ex 
planation  of  his  presence  on  board,  the  child  of  na- 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT        13 

ture,  who  had  not  yet  heard  an  oath  or  foul  word, 
whose  lowest  ideal  was  the  boon  of  eyesight,  was 
driven  with  kicks  and  curses  forward  among  the 
crew,  where  his  inquiries  for  Mary  were  silenced 
with  laughter,  to  work  as  best  he  could  and  learn 
to  be  a  sailor.  Profane  abuse,  cuffs,  or  fist  blows, 
and  a  stinging  rope's  end  were  the  methods  employed 
in  this  school  of  seamanship,  and  his  affliction  only 
increased  the  rigor  of  the  tutelage,  for  none  of  them 
believed  him  actually  blind.  His  habitual  use  of  the 
word  "  see  "  and  its  synonyms,  the  keenness  of  the 
faculty  that  he  meant  and  the  readiness  with  which 
he  found  any  part  of  the  deck  where  he  had  once 
been,  was  evidence  to  them  that  he  was  shamming — 
an  outrageous  violation  of  nautical  ethics. 

As  the  ship  neared  the  tropics,  his  education,  from 
being  confined  to  the  work  on  deck,  progressed  on 
higher  lines.  Followed  by  objurgations  from  the 
officers,  he  felt  his  way  aloft  one  day  to  the  mizzen- 
royal  yard,  and,  under  the  instructions  of  a  sailor 
who  accompanied  him,  learned  to  loose  and  furl  the 
sail.  This  became  his  especial  task,  to  which,  asleep 
or  awake,  night  or  day,  he  was  called  when  sail  was 
shortened  or  set.  Thinly  clad  and  hatless,  he  suf 
fered  torture  from  storm  and  sun,  and  in  the  watch 
below,  the  servant  of  the  forecastle,  he  cleaned  pots 
and  pans,  washed  the  shirts  of  the  rest,  and  brought 
their  food  from  the  galley  as  ordered. 

No  word  of  sympathy,  no  kindly  inquiry  or  expres 
sion  of  friendly  interest  lightened  his  darkness  or 
relieved  the  hideous  nightmare  which  enveloped  his 
soul;  he  was  merely  a  subject  for  forecastle  wit  and 
ridicule.  But  into  the  depths  of  his  misery  and  help 
less  terror,  surrounded  by  phenomena  of  sound  and 
motion  beyond  the  power  of  his  mind  to  grasp,  when 


14  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

the  old  life  in  the  garden  faded  to  a  dream  of  an 
other  world,  and  even  his  father's  voice  would  not 
come  back,  he  carried  the  memory  of  the  soft,  yield 
ing  features  of  the  girl,  and  the  kiss  on  his  lips,  and 
the  sympathy  of  her  voice.  And  this  memory  kept 
him  sane;  for  while  he  remembered  he  hoped,  and 
the  reason  that  hopes  will  not  totter. 

In  the  dreadful,  stifling  calm  of  the  zone  between 
the  trade-winds  the  ship  lay  like  a  log,  with  the  deck 
hot  to  the  feet  and  the  hemp  rigging  sticky  with  ooz 
ing  tar  that  had  been  as  hard  as  wood.  A  gale,  a 
hurricane,  would  have  been  welcomed  by  the  crew  as 
they  worked  in  the  rigging  or  on  the  blistering  deck ; 
but  not  a  catspaw  of  wind  for  days  had  relieved  the 
air  of  its  furnace  heat,  and  no  cloud  appeared  in  the 
metallic  sky  with  its  promise.  Off  to  the  westward 
was  a  large  clipper  ship,  which  at  the  beginning  had 
been  hull  down  on  the  horizon,  but  now,  at  the  end 
of  the  sixth  day,  in  obedience  to  the  law  of  attrac 
tion,  was  but  five  miles  away  and  drifting  closer 
each  hour. 

"  This  is  a  cyclone-breeder,"  remarked  the  captain 
to  the  first  mate.  "  The  barometer  acts  queer."  He 
went  below  and  returned  in  a  moment,  pale  and  ear 
nest. 

"  The  mercury's  below  twenty-nine,"  he  said. 
"  Shorten  down  to  topsails  before  supper.  I'm 
afraid  of  this." 

"  Look  there,  captain,"  answered  the  mate,  point 
ing  to  the  southern  horizon.  Sea  and  sky  were 
merged  in  a  filmy,  translucent  wall  of  light-bluish 
gray,  that  shaded  indefinitely  into  the  color  of  the 
two  elements.  As  they  looked  it  grew  larger.  The 
ship  to  the  westward  was  taking  in  sky-sails  and 
royals. 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT        15 

"  In  with  the  kites !  "  said  the  captain,  tersely. 
"  Call  all  hands !  "  roared  the  mate,  as  he  sprang 
forward.  "  Starboard  watch  aft !  "  he  continued,  as 
the  crew  answered.  "  Let  go  royal  an'  t-gallant 
halPards,  fore  and  aft,  an'  clew  up!  Down  wi' 
the  flyin'-jib!  Bear  a  hand,  my  lads!  bear  a 
hand!" 

The  men  needed  no  encouragement.  They  saw 
the  portent  in  the  southern  sky,  and  hauled  and 
worked  and  multiplied  themselves  as  only  a  short- 
handed  merchant  crew  can.  The  three  royals  were 
soon  hanging  in  the  bunt-lines  and  they  manned  the 
top-gallant  gear.  The  blind  boy  quickly  furled  the 
mizzen-royal,  and  came  down  while  the  men  were 
still  tugging  at  top-gallant  clew-lines  and  bunt-lines. 
The  mate  saw  him. 

"  Here,  you  goggle-eyed  cub !  Lay  aloft  and  stow 
that  main-royal ! "  he  shouted.  The  boy  obeyed, 
and  as  the  captain  directed  the  hauling-up  of  courses 
and  lowering  of  upper  topsails  before  sending  the 
men  aloft  to  furl,  he  was  alone  in  the  rigging,  climb 
ing  a  strange  road  to  find  in  his  darkness,  by  the 
similarity  of  structure  with  the  mizzen-mast,  a  royal- 
yard  where  he  was  to  do  two  men's  work. 

The  dim  shading  of  gray  soon  assumed  form  and 
size  and  a  deeper  hue.  Covering  half  of  the  southern 
horizon,  and  stretching  up,  a  dingy  curtain,  nearly 
to  the  zenith,  it  presented,  in  sharp  contrast  with  the 
brilliant  hue  of  the  sky  above  and  around,  a  menac 
ing  aspect  of  solidity,  horrid  to  behold  in  the  velvety 
blackness  of  the  center,  which  absorbed  every  ray  of 
light  from  the  western  sun,  reflecting  none.  It  was 
the  complete  negation  of  light  and  color.  Beneath  it 
was  a  narrow  band  of  pale  gray,  and  beneath  this  the 
glassy  sea,  which  bore  no  trace  of  ruffling  wind.  The 


16  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

cloud — if  cloud  it  was — seemed  to  move  with  a  voli 
tion  of  its  own,  silently,  with  no  mutterings  of 
thunder  or  gleam  of  lightning. 

As  the  boy  reached  the  royal-yard,  and  the  men 
below  were  manning  topsail  down-hauls,  it  gath 
ered  in  its  shadowy  edges,  lifted  up,  and  came  on,  a 
mighty,  roughly  symmetrical  ball  which  hovered 
nearly  over  the  ship.  Tints  of  deep  purple  now  ap 
peared  in  the  valleys  of  its  surface,  and  on  its  western 
edge  was  a  golden  rim. 

"  Make  fast  all !  "  cried  the  frightened  captain. 
"  Lay  aloft  and  furl !  "  he  roared. 

While  the  last  word  was  still  on  his  lips,  a  sheet 
of  white  flame  enveloped  the  Mary  Croft,  and  a  re 
port  beyond  all  imagining  or  description*  shocked 
the  air  from  horizon  to  horizon.  The  cloud  above 
spread  out  to  an  elongated  spindle,  like  the  black 
wings  of  a  mighty  angel  of  death,  and  went  on  over 
head,  having  done  its  work.  The  ship  was  a  disinte 
grated  wreck.  Where  wood  separated  iron  in  that 
composite  hull,  there  was  molten  metal  anl  flame. 
Each  oaken  rail  was  a  line  of  fire.  From  the  roaring 
furnace  below  arose,  through  each  hatch  and  a  dozen 
ragged  holes  in  the  deck,  spurting,  hissing  columns 
of  black  smoke  and  burning  oil  and  incandescent 
gas.  The  hemp  rigging  slackened,  and,  with  the 
festooned  canvas,  burst  into  flames  which  crept  aloft, 
threatening  with  new  torture  a  moaning  boy  on  the 
main-royal  yard-arm,  who  alone  of  that  ship's  com 
pany,  insulated  on  a  dry  wooden  spar,  had  heard  the 
report  and  felt  a  small  part  of  the  terrific  discharge 
of  heaven's  artillery  that  had  destroyed  the  ship. 
Not  a  man  standing  within  or  above  that  iron-ribbed 
hull  had  known  what  struck  him.  Each  was  dead 
before  the  sensory  nerves  could  act. 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT        17 

The  boy  on  the  yard,  racked  with  excruciating 
pain  in  every  nerve,  clung  to  the  spar  with  one  hand 
and  held  the  other  to  his  head,  for  in  his  head  was 
the  acme  of  his  agony.  Then  he  became  conscious 
of  heat  from  below,  with  smoke  which  stifled  him. 
Choking  and  gasping,  expecting  momentarily  to  hear 
the  roar  of  the  mate,  he  attempted  to  furl  the  sail. 
Then  he  felt  rain  on  his  bare  head,  large  drops,  which 
multiplied  to  a  shower,  then  to  a  deluge  of  water  that 
compelled  him  to  hold  tight  to  the  yard  with  both 
hands.  The  pain  in  his  head  increased  as  he  took 
away  his  hand,  and  strange,  dream-like  sensations 
crowded  his  mind,  sensations  of  motion,  as  though 
his  brain  was  loosened  and  turning  around.  Then 
the  heat  and  smoke  from  below  ceased;  then  came 
wind,  cooling  and  welcome,  which  increased,  at  first 
a  breath,  then  a  gust,  then  a  breeze,  then  a  gale — a 
screaming  hurricane.  He  heard  loud  creaking  below 
him.  The  yard  inclined,  and  he  shifted  his  position ; 
it  became  upright.  Then  he  heard  a  grinding  crash 
from  somewhere,  and,  clinging  tightly  to  the  spar, 
felt  a  sickening  dizziness,  which  lasted  until,  coming 
with  a  swishing  crash  of  water,  he  felt  a  concussion 
which,  tearing  him  away  from  the  yard,  hurled  him 
into  a  salt  engulfing  element  that  filled  his  mouth  and 
nose  and  choked  him.  Something  hard  struck  his 
legs,  which  he  grasped,  and  soon  he  could 
breathe.  It  was  the  yard-arm,  which  he  knew  by 
the  touch. 

As  he  climbed  on  the  floating  tangle  of  spar  and 
cordage,  he  felt  again  the  scorching  heat  and 
breathed  the  stifling  smoke.  Then  he  heard  a  distant 
report.  It  was  an  encouraging  signal  from  the 
clipper  ship,  which,  laying  over  to  the  lessening 
squall,  was  steering  a  course  that  would  bring  her 


18  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

straight  to  the  wreck.  But  it  frightened  the  boy, 
reminding  him  of  the  awful  sound  that  had  hurt  him. 
To  him  this  terrible  experience  was  but  a  little 
stranger  than  his  daily  contact  with  environment. 
He  did  not  know  what  had  happened  or  how  he  came 
to  be  in  the  water.  He  called  for  help,  but,  hearing 
no  answer,  waited  for  some  one  to  come.  The  sore 
ness  in  his  joints  was  leaving  him,  though  when  he 
opened  his  eyes  there  invariably  came  the  pain  and 
the  whirl  and  the  phantasms  in  his  head.  But  this 
pain  gradually  became  endurable  and  the  whirl  less 
pronounced,  so  that  the  phantasmagoria  was  de 
fined  and  at  times  stationary. 

As  he  changed  his  position  on  the  spar  he  noticed 
that  the  phantasms  changed  also.  Then  he  found 
that  merely  moving  his  head  to  the  right  or  to  the 
left,  up  or  down,  seemed  to  cause  this  change  and  mo 
tion.  He  realized  that  when  he  faced  one  way  there 
was  little  difference — nothing  but  a  slight  sensation 
of  motion  that  was  pleasurable.  In  another  posi 
tion  there  came  sharply  defined  shocks  which  irri 
tated  him.  Facing  another  way,  he  felt  a  return  of 
the  pain  and  a  lively  hatred  of  the  phantasm  which 
accompanied  it.  He  turned  away,  instinctively  shut 
ting  his  eyes,  and  the  movement  and  all  sensation 
ended.  Then  he  opened  them,  and  the  phenomena 
returned. 

He  felt  of  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  a  new  phan 
tasm  blotted  out  all  others.  Removing  his  hand 
took  it  away.  He  brought  both  hands  together  and 
repeated  the  experiment;  then,  separating  them  and 
bringing  them  together,  again  and  again,  the  truth 
came  home  to  him. 

"  I  see !  "  he  cried,  to  the  sky  and  ocean.  "  I  can 
see  with  my  eyes  !  I  can  see !  I  can  see !  " 


THE  CLOSING  OF  THE  CIRCUIT        19 

The  optic  nerve  had  been  at  work  since  the  light 
ning-bolt  had  jarred  it  into  life. 

In  his  great  joy  he  shouted  with  all  the  power  of 
his  lungs ;  he  wanted  his  shipmates  to  know ;  for  even 
they,  with  the  whole  world,  must  rejoice  with  him. 
His  shout  was  answered  by  a  distant  hail,  and  then 
he  turned  and  shouted  again.  Into  his  field  of  vision 
came  a  moving  object  which  slowly  grew  larger.  He 
reached  out  his  hand  to  touch  it,  but  failed.  He 
waited,  shouting  at  intervals  until  the  moving  thing 
filled  his  eyes  with  its  strange  outline,  then  heard  the 
voice  again. 

"  All  right,  my  lad,"  it  said,  close  to  him ;  "  hold 
on!  In  bow!  Way  enough!  Back  water,  star 
board!  Got  him?" 

Strong  hands  grasped  him  and  he  was  lifted  into 
a  boat. 

"  Who's  left?    Any  one?  "  asked  the  voice. 

"  I  can  see,"  he  answered.  "  I  can  see  with  my 
eyes." 

"  Poor  devil,  he's  crazy.  Back  water,  men ;  we'll 
look  aboard,  if  we  can." 

"Where  were  you  when  she  was  struck?"  asked 
the  man  nearest  him. 

The  boy  was  staring  at  the  moving  pictures  filling 
his  brain,  which  he  knew  must  be  men,  like  himself. 
For  answer  he  shut  his  eyes  and  felt  the  features  of 
the  questioner. 

"  Where  were  you  when  she  was  struck?  "  the  man 
repeated. 

"  Struck !  Yes,  something  struck  me.  I  was  on 
the  main  royal-yard,  and  then  I  was  in  the  water. 
I  don't  know.  What  was  it?  Who  are  you?  " 

"  Great  God,  sir,"  sang  out  the  man,  "  he  was  on 
the  royal-yard  when  the  mainmast  went." 


20  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  No  wonder  he's  daft.     Way  enough,  boys !  " 

The  flames  above  deck,  temporarily  quenched  by 
the  rain,  were  again  breaking  forth,  fed  by  the  rag 
ing  gulf  below.  Holding  his  breath,  the  officer 
climbed  the  weather  mizzen-chains,  and,  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  fierce  heat,  glanced  once  at  the  heca 
tomb  on  the  shattered  deck  of  the  Mary  Croft,  and 
dropped  back,  pale  and  horror-struck. 

"  She'll  sink  in  half  an  hour,"  he  said.  "  It's  best. 
Give  way !  " 

They  left  the  ship  and  returned  to  their  own,  the 
clipper,  where  the  boy,  astonished  that  no  one  shared 
his  joyousness,  was  lifted  up  the  side  and  placed  on 
the  deck.  He  looked  around  and  staggered,  until, 
shutting  his  eyes,  he  recovered  his  balance. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  blind  boy,"  exclaimed  a  voice  that 
he  knew,  which  sent  his  blood  leaping. 

"  Mary !  "  he  cried.  "  Mary !  Mary,  where  are 
you  ?  I  can  see  now !  I  can  see  with  my  eyes !  " 
She  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant.  With  his  eyes  still 
closed,  he  felt  of  her  face  and  hair,  reveling  in  ec 
static  delight  of  the  senses  which  remembered  her ; 
then,  opening  them,  stamped  his  soul  with  her  image, 
which  he  had  not  yet  imagined.  And  it  pleased  his 
new-born  sense  more  than  any  of  the  phantasms 
that  had  yet  appeared  to  it. 


A  COW,  TWO  MEN,  AND  A  PARSON 

"*\7'ES,"  said  the  retired  pilot,  "I've  as  much  re- 

JL      spect    for    an    able    seaman    as    when    I    was 

learning  to  be  one ;  at  the  same  time,  I  may  say  that 

in  these  days  of  donkey-engines  and  steam  capstans 


A  COW,  TWO  MEN,  AND  A  PARSON       21 

and  windlasses  the  able  seaman  can  be  dispensed 
with,  to  a  great  extent.  Ever  tell  you  about  that 
trip  I  made  without  a  sailor  aboard?  No?  Well, 
it's  worth  hearing  about.  It  was  certainly  a  re 
markable  voyage. 

"  I  was  a  youngster  then,  just  out  of  the  fore 
castle,  and  was  going  out  to  Calcutta,  second  mate  of 
the  bark  Tempest.  The  mate  was  a  York  State  man, 
a  rattling  good  fellow  and  an  all-around  sailor-man ; 
but  he  had  one  failing — profanity.  He  could  out- 
curse  any  man  I  ever  met.  It  just  rolled  out  of  him, 
without  any  trouble  on  his  part  at  all.  He  was 
never  at  a  loss  for  a  word  or  a  forcible  expression ; 
but,  to  do  him  justice,  he  always  swore  at  things,  not 
men. 

"  Well,  about  this  time  there  had  been  a  lot  of 
trouble  in  holding  men  to  their  ships  after  they  had 
signed  articles,  and  the  captain  had  arranged  to 
bring  ours  aboard  with  a  tug  after  we  had  towed 
down  to  the  lower  bay.  A  gang  of  riggers  bent  sail 
at  the  dock  and  helped  us  down,  and  we  dropped 
anchor  to  wait  for  the  tug  with  the  captain,  pilot, 
and  crew. 

"  Before  leaving  the  dock  our  one  passenger  joined 
us  and  spent  his  time  looking  after  his  cow,  that  had 
come  aboard  with  him.  He  was  a  missionary,  go 
ing  out  to  convert  the  heathen,  and  his  Society  had 
backed  him  up  to  the  extent  of  the  cow — for  fresh 
milk.  It  wasn't  usual  to  take  cows  to  sea,  but  I 
suppose  the  skipper  liked  fresh  milk  and  hoped  to 
get  some,  so  he  let  the  cow  come  along.  The  cow 
wasn't  consulted,  of  course.  We  knocked  a  few 
boards  together  and  made  her  a  temporary  pen  on 
the  forehatch. 

"  The  Chinese  steward  was  ashore  with  the  cap- 


22  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

tain,  but  had  got  the  cook,  a  countryman  of  his, 
aboard  at  the  dock,  and  this  gentleman — well,  I'll 
speak  of  him  afterward.  The  ship  had  lain  port 
side  to  the  dock,  and  our  big  anchor-chain  was  used 
to  moor  her.  For  some  reason  the  mate  had  forgot 
ten  to  have  it  shackled  to  the  anchor  as  we  towed 
down  the  bay,  so  we  used  a  small  one.  It  was  safe 
enough  if  it  didn't  blow  hard.  No  tug  appeared, 
and,  night  coming  on,  the  mate  agreed  to  stand  watch 
till  midnight,  when  I  was  to  relieve  him. 

"  At  supper-time  we  had  our  first  rub  with  the 
cook.  The  mate  had  poked  his  head  into  the  galley 
and  told  him  to  cook  supper  for  us,  as  the  steward 
was  ashore.  In  Pidgin  English  he  was  answered 
that  he  had  shipped  cook,  not  steward ;  that  he 
was  to  cook  for  a  crew  of  fourteen  men,  which  he 
would  do  and  no  more.  And  what  did  that  Celestial 
do  but  cook  up  a  supper  of  salt-horse  hash  for  a  full 
crew  and  place  it  in  the  empty  forecastle. 

"  The  mate  interviewed  him  again,  but  got  no 
satisfaction.  During  the  interview  the  cook's  heels 
cracked  the  carlines  overhead,  and  several  pots  and 
pans  were  dented;  but  he  knew  his  work,  and  would 
not  cook  for  the  cabin.  So,  all  we  could  do  was  to 
muster  around  the  dishpan  of  hash  in  the  forecastle 
and  get  it  down.  The  parson  began  to  say  '  Grace,' 
but  the  mate  quashed  it.  '  Stow  that,  parson,* 
he  said,  irreverently.  '  Be  thankful  if  you  like, 
but  don't  bring  me  in,  for  I'm  not — for  this 
grub.' 

"  You  see,  the  mate  had  been  used  to  the  cabin 
menu  for  some  years,  but  I,  fresh  from  the  fore 
castle,  enjoyed  it.  As  for  the  parson,  he  took  one 
mouthful  of  the  sickening  mess  and  passed;  but  he 
ate  it  at  the  next  meal,  when  hungrier. 


A  COW,  TWO  MEN,  AND  A  PARSON       23 

"  I  turned  in  and  slept  till  midnight,  when  the 
mate  called  me. 

"  '  Looks  rather  bilious  over  there  to  the  nor'west,' 
he  said,  as  he  went  below.  '  Look  out  for  a  Staten 
Island  squall — wish  we'd  shackled  on  the  other 
anchor.' 

"  I  aroused  him  in  an  hour.  The  squall  was  com 
ing,  black  and  wicked.  He  came  up,  took  one  look, 
and  said :  '  Call  the  sky-pilot ;  he's  got  to  help.'  I 
got  him  up  after  some  trouble  and  we  went  to  work 
trying  to  shackle  the  chain  to  the  big  anchor — a  big 
job  for  two  men,  for  the  parson  was  useless.  Before 
we  got  the  end  up  to  the  rail  the  squall  struck  us 
and  away  we  went,  the  small  anchor  nearly  jumping 
out  of  the  water  as  we  dragged. 

"  The  mate  ran  aft,  looked  at  the  compass,  and 
came  back.  '  We're  dragging  right  into  the  Swash 
Channel! '  he  yelled,  as  he  joined  us. 

"  It  was  about  the  sharpest  squall  I  have  ever 
seen.  We  were  forced  to  shout  into  one  another's 
ears  to  be  understood.  Lightning  played  all  around 
us,  and  by  the  light  of  the  flashes  we  worked  until 
we  had  the  chain  secured  to  the  anchor,  which, 
luckily,  hung  at  the  cat-head  instead  of  being  stowed 
on  the  rail.  We  then  overhauled  a  range  of  chain, 
but  just  as  we  were  ready  to  let  go  there  came  a 
mighty  straining  on  the  windlass,  then  a  sudden  jolt, 
and  we  knew  the  small  anchor  had  caught  some 
thing  and  parted  the  chain.  Then  we  heard  for  a 
moment  the  bell-buoy  and  knew  we  were  in  the 
Swash  Channel. 

"  '  Stand  by  to  give  her  the  chain,  quick ! '  shouted 
the  mate  as  he  let  go  the  big  mud-hook.  We  were 
going  astern  about  six  knots  an  hour,  and,  though 
we  lifted  the  chain  around  the  windlass  fast  as  we 


24  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

could,  she  brought  up  too  quick.  Away  went  the  big 
chain. 

"  The  mate  screamed  in  my  ear :  '  Show  the  head  of 
the  foretopmast  staysail ;  slip  both  chains  at  the 
first  shackles ;  I'll  take  the  wheel ! ' 

"  I  knew  what  he  wanted  to  do — keep  her  off  the 
bottom.  So  I  loosed  the  staysail,  then  hunted  for 
the  parson,  who  had  disappeared.  I  found  him  in 
the  forecastle,  praying,  and  felt  that  I  did  wrong  to 
interrupt  him ;  but  that  sail  must  go  up,  and  I  knew 
the  cook  wouldn't  help,  so  he  had  to  come. 

"  The  mate  had  thrown  the  wheel  over,  backing 
the  ship  around  broadside  to  it  as  we  dragged  the  sail 
part  way  up.  I  made  the  sheet  fast,  then  punched 
out  the  shackle-pins  and  let  the  chain  go  out  of  the 
hawse-pipes.  She  soon  began  to  go  ahead.  The 
mate  got  her  on  the  course  down  the  channel,  and, 
as  he  knew  every  foot  of  the  bay,  steered  us  right  out 
to  sea  past  Romer  Shoal,  Sandy  Hook,  and  Scotland 
Lightship.  The  parson  had  gone  below  out  of  the 
rain,  and  I  kept  lookout  on  the  poop  to  be  near  the 
mate.  About  a  mile  outside  of  the  lightship  he  threw 
the  wheel  down  and  lashed  it;  then  we  stowed  the 
staysail  after  a  fashion  and  loosed  the  spanker  to 
heave  to  under. 

"  We  got  the  parson  out  again,  and  the  mate  took 
a  pump-brake  to  the  cook,  who  squealed  and  chat 
tered,  but  would  not  turn  out  to  help.  We  pulled 
the  spanker  up  without  him,  and  then  she  lay  quiet 
enough  in  the  offshore  sea  that  was  rising. 

"  At  daylight  the  land  was  a  dim  line  of  blue,  and 
that  squall  settled  down  to  a  three-days'  gale  that 
blew  us  a  hundred  miles  to  sea.  The  mate  and  I 
stood  watch  and  watch,  while  the  parson  fed  the  cow 
and  prayed.  And  the  cook?  Why,  every  meal-time 


A  COW,  TWO  MEN,  AND  A  PARSON        25 

that  demented  heathen  would  lug  the  whole  bill  of 
fare  to  the  forecastle  door  and  return  in  an  hour  to 
dump  the  stuff  overboard.  Meanwhile  we  would 
have  eaten  what  we  wanted  of  it.  The  mate  busied 
himself  plotting  the  drift  of  the  ship,  hammering 
the  cook,  and  swearing. 

"  The  parson  didn't  offer  to  say  grace  any  more, 
but  the  mate  supplied  plenty  of  profane  language. 
Once,  as  he  reeled  off  a  string  of  oaths,  the  parson 
admonished  him.  'What's  the  difference,  parson?' 
he  answered.  '  You  pray  and  it's  supplication,  isn't 
it?  I  swear.  Same  thing — supplication.' 

"  The  poor  parson  rolled  up  his  eyes.  '  Shocking ! 
Shocking ! '  he  said.  I  didn't  like  to  hear  the  mate 
talk  like  this,  but  he  was  my  superior  and  I  had 
nothing  to  say.  The  parson  was  a  long-geared, 
mild-mannered  man,  with  a  chin-whisker  and  bald 
head;  a  nice  old  fellow,  and  very  much  frightened 
at  the  trouble  we  were  in. 

"  The  third  day  the  wind  moderated,  and  the  mate 
proposed  trying  to  set  the  lower  topsails. 

"  '  How'll  we  sheet  home  ?  '  I  asked.  '  If  we  had  a 
donkey-engine,  now — ' 

"  '  I  have  it,'  he  broke  in.  '  We've  got  a  cow — a 
good,  strong,  able-bodied  cow.  She  has  got  to  work 
her  passage.' 

"  We  inspected  the  cow.  *  I'll  make  a  canvas  strap 
for  her  breast,'  he  said,  '  and  rig  a  harness  to  hook 
on  to  the  gear.' 

"  He  went  at  it,  harnessed  the  cow,  led  her  out  and 
hooked  her  on  to  the  weather  main  topsail-sheet.  I 
loosened  the  sail  and  sung  out,  '  Sheet  home ! '  but 
the  cow  would  not.  She  just  stood  there  and  looked 
around  in  a  bewildered  way,  remarking  '  Moo-o-oo ! ' 
every  time  the  mate  whacked  her  with  a  board.  He 


26  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

whacked  and  perspired,  and  swore  until  he  was  tired, 
and  then  the  parson  suggested  that  she  might  pull 
if  she  was  fed  first — perhaps  she  was  hungry.  It 
gave  the  mate  an  idea.  He  brought  up  a  turnip  and 
held  it  in  front  of  her  nose.  She  reached  for  it  and 
got  a  smell;  reached  farther  and  pulled  the  sheet  a 
little ;  he  gave  her  a  morsel.  Then,  with  the  taste  in 
her  mouth,  she  walked  away  with  the  sheet  to  get 
more.  Soon  we  had  both  sheets  home  and  the 
weather-brace  tautened,  and  the  cow  got  the  rest  of 
the  turnip.  Then  we  set  the  fore  topsail  the  same 
way  and  put  the  cow  in  her  pen. 

"  The  mate  was  in  high  feather.  *  It  won't  do  to 
feed  that  animal,'  he  said  to  the  parson.  '  She's  our 
crew — fourteen  sailors  rolled  into  one  cowhide.  But 
if  our  crew  has  a  full  belly  our  crew  won't  work — 
understand?  We'll  make  her  grub  a  reward  for 
service  rendered,  payable  when  earned.' 

"  The  parson  saw  the  force  of  this  reasoning,  and 
the  mate  went  below  for  a  nap  while  I  watched  the 
ship.  Every  time  I  passed  the  galley  door  the  cook 
stuck  his  head  out  and  jabbered  at  me.  All  I  could 
understand  was  that  he  had  shipped  to  cook  '  fol 
f  oulteen  sailol-man ;  no  glubbie,  no  cookie.'  I  went 
in  and  gathered  that  the  salt  beef  the  steward  had 
weighed  out  to  him  was  all  cooked  and  he  wanted 
more.  When  the  mate  came  up  I  told  him. 

"  Good  enough.  We'll  stop  this  waste  of  grub. 
6  Parson,'  he  shouted,  '  can  you  cook?  '  The  parson 
left  his  cow  and  came  aft. 

"  '  Well,  really,'  he  began,  '  I  can  hardly  claim — ' 

"  '  Can  you,  or  will  you,  boil  spuds,  fry  steak,  and 
make  coffee?  We  have  these  things  aboard,  and  if 
you'll  cook  we'll  have  something  to  eat,  and  I'll  put 
that  yellow-back  in  irons.' 


A  COW,  TWO  MEN,  AND  A  PARSON        27 

"  He  agreed  to  try  it,  so  the  mate  got  out  the  dar 
bies,  and  with  a  belaying-pin  battered  the  poor 
Chinaman  into  condition  to  submit  to  being  ironed. 
Then  he  dragged  the  shrieking  wretch  aft  and  bun 
dled  him  down  the  booby-hatch,  where  he  lashed 
him  to  a  stanchion  and  gave  him  the  last  dish  of 
hash  he  had  cooked  and  a  bucket  of  water.  We  had 
no  more  trouble  with  him. 

"  The  parson  cooked  dinner  for  us,  and  as  the  day 
wore  on  we  made  more  sail,  putting  on  the  upper 
topsails,  top-gallant-sails,  and  the  jibs,  the  parson 
backing  ahead  of  the  cow  with  a  turnip,  I  whacking 
her  with  a  board,  and  the  mate  standing  by  to  nipper 
and  bossing  the  job.  She  always  got  a  morsel  of 
turnip  for  every  rope  she  pulled,  but  it  was  a  much- 
disgusted  old  cow  that  we  led  back  to  the  pen.  She 
must  have  thought  it  over  that  night,  for  the  next 
morning  when  we  introduced  her  to  the  main-brace 
she  let  out  her  heels,  knocked  me  galley  west  and 
chased  the  parson  up  on  the  poop,  while  the 
mate  took  to  the  rigging  and  nearly  fell  over 
board. 

"  But  she  cooled  down  and  squared  in  the  yards, 
for  the  wind  was  fair  for  Sandy  Hook,  and  that  day 
a  pilot  boarded  us.  He  laughed  till  the  tears  came 
as  he  saw  the  cow  walk  along  with  a  brace  fast  to 
her,  bribed  by  the  turnip  ahead  and  fanned  by  a 
board  behind. 

"  An  ocean  tug  came  along  about  dark  and  the 
mate  struck  a  bargain  to  be  towed  in  with  the  tug's 
tow-line  and  docked.  The  cow  helped  us  to  get  the 
line,  and  worked  half  the  night  clewing  up  the  sails. 
If  she  could  have  gone  aloft  we  would  have  made  her 
furl  them.  We  were  mean  enough.  As  he  backed 
into  the  slip  next  day  the  tug  captain  climbed 


28  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

aboard.  '  What  kind  of  a  crew  do  you  call  this  ?  '  he 
asked,  as  he  saw  us  getting  lines  ready. 

"  '  Good  crew,'  said  the  pilot.  *  A  cow,  two  men, 
and  a  parson,  and  the  best  man  here  is  the  cow.' 
Then  he  told  him  what  had  happened. 

"  The  tug  captain  grew  black  in  the  face  as  he 
cursed  his  stupidity  in  docking  a  helpless  ship  at 
ordinary  rates.  If  he  had  known  how  short-handed 
we  were  he  could  have  demanded  and  been  paid  a 
big  pile.  Then  the  mate  came  along  and  helped 
him  out.  The  air  was  blue  and  sulphurous  for  a 
while,  as  these  two  experts  turned  loose,  but  the 
mate  won. 

"  And  the  cow  ?  Oh,  the  mate  bought  her  from 
the  parson  at  Calcutta.  Said  he'd  put  her  on  the 
articles  when  he  got  a  ship  to  sail,  and  draw  her 
pay." 

THE  RIVALS 

HAD  he  been  a  cold-blooded  creature  with  a  heart 
of  one  ventricle,  he  might  have  been  classed 
with  the  amphibia;  for  he  was  a  vertebrate;  he  was 
born  on  land  and  had  taken  to  the  water — but  only 
to  the  surface,  for,  though  he  could  suspend  respira 
tion  and  even  heart-action  for  a  long  period,  a  dive 
beneath  would  be  fatal.  Other  points  of  difference 
between  him  and  amphibians  were  his  superheated, 
half-gaseous  breath  and  blood ;  his  twin  hearts  of 
complex  structure  that  throbbed  at  "  ten  thousand 
indicated  " ;  lungs,  veins,  and  air-passages  of  cold- 
drawn,  seamless  tubing;  nerves  of  copper,  and  hide 
of  Harveyized  steel  several  inches  thick  in  places. 
His  nose — of  the  same  material  and  solid — was  tons 
in  weight,  and  his  vertebral  column  longer,  thicker, 


THE  RIVALS  29 

stiffer,  and  stronger  than  that  of  any  known  amphib 
ian,  living  or  extinct;  so  he  was  not  an  amphibian; 
neither  was  he  any  other  kind  of  reptile,  nor  fish,  nor 
bird,  nor  animal.  He  was  superior  to  all,  and,  pos 
sessing  a  soul,  was  in  close  touch  with  humanity. 

His  consciousness  had  begun  with  a  tickling  sensa 
tion  of  broken  glass  and  streaming  wine  on  his  nose, 
and  the  sound  in  his  ears — or  bow-sponsons,  to  be 
correct — of  a  receding  musical  voice  which  said :  "  I 
christen  thee  Vengeftd."  Then,  in  a  quiver  of  ner 
vous  expectation  and  wonder,  he  had  slid  backward 
until  the  water  received  him,  while  thousands  of 
small  creatures  all  about  him  buzzed  noisily.  He 
had  known  his  name  when  he  heard  it — it  seemed 
that  he  had  known  it  for  ages — but  he  was  still 
dazed  and  stupid,  unable  to  "  take  notice,"  and  im 
mediately  dropped  into  the  healthy  slumber  of  the 
newly  born,  during  which  slumber  the  mites  of  crea 
tures  tied  him  to  a  dock,  scrubbed  him,  groomed  him, 
and  labored  over  him  until  his  heart  and  lungs — in 
fact,  his  whole  nervous  and  vascular  systems — had 
developed  to  working  condition.  He  had  grown 
some  formidable  teeth  and  claws,  and  two  pairs  of 
one  hundred  thousand  candle-power  eyes  which  could 
see  objects  five  miles  away  in  the  dark.  He  had  ac 
quired,  too,  a  voracious  appetite,  and  they  poured  a 
thousand  tons  of  picked  coal  into  his  stomach,  which 
he  liked  and  began  to  digest.  Then  it  was  that  he 
really  lived  and  enjoyed  life. 

They  called  him  a  sea-going  battle-ship  of  sixteen 
thousand  tons  displacement,  and  said  that  he  was 
English;  but  he  cared  little  for  that.  He  remem 
bered  his  name  and  knew  his  business,  which  was 
closely  connected  with  his  name.  He  purposed  to 
attend  to  it;  but  in  this  regard  was  first  confronted 


30  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

with  the  problem  of  the  small  creatures — the  eight 
hundred  busy,  buzzing,  scurrying  parasites  that  lived 
upon  him  and  within  him.  Naturally  he  had  expected 
to  be  annoyed  by  them,  but  somehow — he  could  not 
understand  how — they  seemed  to  know  the  right  thing 
to  do  at  the  right  time,  and  even  to  anticipate  his 
wishes.  Was  hev  hungry?  They  filled  his  stomach. 
Thirsty?  They  pumped  fresh,  sweet  wrater  into  him. 
Hot  and  uncomfortable?  They  opened  his  ports  and 
ventilating  apertures,  and  cooled  him  with  steady 
blasts  of  air.  Every  morning  they  attended  to  his 
bath,  flushing  and  flooding  all  parts  of  him,  rubbing 
him  dry,  and  polishing  his  teeth  and  claws.  When 
he  had  resolved  upon  a  short  venture  to  the  open  sea, 
he  found  them  enthusiastically  interested  in  the  plan, 
calling  it  a  "  trial  trip."  And  when,  after  a  glorious 
battle  with  the  mighty  waves  which  tried  their  best  to 
overwhelm  him — a  series  of  spurts  ahead  and  back 
ings  astern,  quick  turns  to  the  right  and  left  under 
full  speed,  and  a  wild  rush  in  a  straight  line  in  which 
he  put  forth  his  strength  to  the  utmost,  and  quivered 
in  every  nerve  and  muscle,  and  roared  and  shrieked 
in  his  joy  of  might — he  returned  to  his  place  in  the 
harbor,  fatigued  and  panting  and  hot  with  exertion, 
the  joyous  buzzing  of  the  parasites  equaled  his 
mightiest  roar.  The  buzzing  was  answered  by  other 
buzzing  from  other  bugs  on  other  ships  in  the  har 
bor;  and  when  it  had  subsided  a  little  and  become 
articulate,  he  heard  them  boasting :  "  Nineteen  knots 
over  a  measured  course — the  largest  and  fastest  bat 
tle-ship  in  the  world."  It  would  have  been  easy,  in 
the  furious  rush  into  a  head  sea,  to  wash  most  of 
them  off ;  but  he  had  spared  them,  and  now  was  glad. 
Whatever  they  were — whatever  their  part  and  mis 
sion,  they  were  at  least  friendly,  and  did  him  good 


THE  RIVALS  31 

rather  than  harm.  Later,  when  they  had  bathed 
him  and  cooled  him  down,  and  he  was  receiving  the 
sober  and  more  dignified  congratulations  of  the  ships, 
he  heard  them  described  as  his  "  crew  " — part  of 
the  congratulations  referring  to  his  good  luck  in 
getting  a  crew  of  such  intelligence  and  efficiency. 

"  There's  work  for  you  in  this  world,  youngster," 
said  a  one-funneled,  sponsoned  warrior  of  a  past  gen 
eration.  "  I  won't  be  in  it,  though  I  hope  to  see  it. 
Back  number,  you  know.  Obsolete,  they  call  me; 
but  if  I  had  your  teeth  and  hide  and  barbettes,  I 
wouldn't  funk  at  any  job.  Speed  don't  mean  much 
in  a  mix." 

"Don't,  eh?"  murmured  a  small,  saucy  torpedo- 
boat  which,  with  feminine  presumption  and  curi 
osity,  had  sniffed  her  way  up  between  the  two,  and 
now  lay  breathing  steam  and  black  smoke  in  Venge- 
ful's  face.  "  Means  a  good  deal  to  me." 

"  Pardon  me,"  coughed  Vengeful,  politely ;  "  but 
wouldn't  you  mind,  Miss — I  really  don't  know  your 
name — but  wouldn't  you  mind — " 

"  Dolly,  you're  no  lady,"  interrupted  the  old  war 
rior.  "  Clear  out.  You  may  not  know  it,  and  it's  a 
rough  thing  to  say  to  one  of  your  sex,  but  your 
breath's  very  bad.  Make  your  escape.  Use  some  o' 
that  speed  o'  yours." 

"  I'll  not  speak  to  you  again,  old  Sponsons," 
snapped  the  torpedo-boat.  "  I  can't  help  my  breath 
— I  just  can't  eat  that  hard  coal  you're  all  so  fond 
of;  it  disagrees  with  me.  And  I  only  wanted  to  be 
introduced." 

"  Get  around  to  leeward,  and  I'll  make  you  ac 
quainted  ;  but,  understand,  I  won't  warrant  you." 

"  You  needn't  mind,  old  Shiver-the-Mizzen.  I'll 
introduce  myself." 


32  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  Privilege  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Mind  your  own  business." 

She  shot  ahead,  a  black  streak  under  a  thick  line 
of  horizontal  smoke,  turned  in  her  tracks,  and  circled 
up  under  Vengeful's  lee,  where  she  stopped  and 
said: 

"  Don't  you  believe  a  single  word  that  old  wretch 
says  about  me,  will  you?  He  hates  me." 

"  But  he  hasn't  said  anything,"  answered  Venge 
ful. 

"  But  he  will,  I'm  sure.  My  name's  Wasp ;  but 
he  calls  me  all  sorts  of  names.  When  he's  good- 
humored,  as  he  happens  to  be  to-day,  it's  Dolly  or 
Mollie  or  Daisy ;  but  oftener  it's  Newsy  or  Nosey  or 
Busy.  I  detest  him.  Say,  Mr.  Vengeful " — she 
dipped  her  nose  coquettishly  in  the  crisp  harbor  sea 
and  rolled  a  little,  as  though  in  feminine  embarrass 
ment — "  found  a  sweetheart  yet?  " 

"  Say,  Vengeful,"  called  his  friend,  in  a  whispering 
blast  of  steam,  "  look  out  for  that  minx.  She's  a 
whole  bag  o'  newspapers — she's  a  whole  press  syndi 
cate.  Listen  to  her  and  get  the  news,  but  look  out 
what  you  say." 

"What's  he  saying  about  me?"  she  demanded, 
lifting  her  nose  high. 

"  Nothing — really  nothing."  Vengeful  shivered 
at  his  first  lie. 

"Well,  I  hope  not,  just  as  we're  getting  ac 
quainted.  But  about  that  matter — well,  about  your 
sweetheart.  You  won't  wait  long.  Look  around 
you.  Why,  every  girl  in  the  crowd  is  jealous  of  me 
now,  and  Black  Jack,  over  there — see  him  at  the 
outer  buoy? — is  jealous  of  you.  He  thinks  I'm  the 
only  girl  in  the  world,  and  I've  made  him  think  he's 
the  bravest  and  best  fellow  alive;  but  I  don't  like 


THE  RIVALS  33 

him — don't  like  Russians  at  all.  See  him  squirm. 
Why,  he's  pointing  at  you." 

There  was  a  large  fleet  at  the  anchorage.  There 
were  battle-ships  of  all  types  and  classes,  obsolete 
or  modern — ponderous,  truculent,  masculine;  ar 
mored  cruisers — sexless  compromises,  poor  fighters, 
and  bad  runners,  despised  of  the  ship  world,  but 
handsome  withal,  of  good  figure  and  pleasing  car 
riage;  protected  cruisers  were  there — stately,  lady 
like,  and  respectable  from  keel  to  truck ;  unprotected 
cruisers  as  well,  feminine  too,  of  moral  fiber  and  rep 
utation  in  keeping  with  their  unprotectedness,  but 
which  came  mainly  from  their  mutual  jealousy  and 
proneness  to  scandal-mongering.  Lower  still  in  the 
moral  scale  were  the  torpedo-boats  and  destroyers, 
quick  of  wit  and  speech  and  heel,  shameless  and  ir 
responsible,  but  of  serpentine  grace  and  beauty.  Of 
such  was  Miss  Dolly,  and  in  the  first  class  named 
was  her  critic — crusty  and  discouraged  old  War- 
horse,  honest  as  a  bulldog  and  a  fighter  in  his  day, 
but  now  a  third-rate. 

All  these,  with  one  exception,  had  offered  welcome 
and  congratulation  to  Vengeful.  The  exception  was 
the  Russian  indicated  by  Dolly,  a  high-sided  vicious- 
looking  fellow  of  about  Vengeful's  draught  and  dis 
placement,  now  tugging  sulkily  at  his  mooring  buoy 
far  over  toward  the  channel.  On  his  rail  and  boats 
was  an  unpronounceable,  untranslatable  name,  which 
no  one  called  him  by,  the  fleet  with  one  accord  agree 
ing  upon  Black  Jack  as  a  fitting  cognomen  for  a 
person  who,  even  as  a  visitor,  had  not  the  manners 
to  answer  a  civil  "  good-morning,"  be  it  given  in  the 
form  of  gun-salute,  whistle,  or  signal.  He  had 
unkindly  sneered  at  Vengeful  on  his  first  appearance 
among  them,  and  all  through  the  running  fire  of 


34  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

comment  and  approval  following  his  trial  of  strength 
had  remained  moodily  silent.  As  Vengeful  looked  at 
him  he  had  swung  his  forward  turret  guns  until  they 
bore  upon  his  superstructure,  and  was  slowly  bring 
ing  every  gun  in  his  port  secondary  battery  to  bear 
upon  the  same  spot.  One  vicious  eye  on  his  forward 
bridge  glared  unspeakable  things  at  Vengeful,  and  as 
he  rolled  and  pitched  in  the  choppy  sea  of  the  channel 
this  eye  lifted  and  fell,  staring  him  out  of  counte 
nance.  The  insult  was  unmistakable. 

"  My,  what  a  temper !  "  giggled  Miss  Dolly.  "  Do 
you  think,  Mr.  Vengeful,  that  you  could  thrash 
him?" 

"  I'm  pretty  sure  that  I  could,"  he  answered, 
slowly,  though  he  quivered  in  anger ;  "  but  not  sure 
of  the  etiquette." 

"  Challenge  him,"  said  Dolly,  as  she  shot  ahead. 
"  I'll  carry  the  challenge.  Oh,  I  hope  you'll  thrash 
him  well." 

"  Come  back  here,  Miss  Busy,"  hailed  the  observ 
ant  Warhorse.  "  None  of  your  mischief-making. 
Come  back,  I  say."  But  Dolly  was  far  away,  cir 
cling  around  toward  Black  Jack.  "  Steady,  Venge 
ful,"  he  said,  softly ;  "  he's  an  infernal  cad,  of  course, 
but  a  guest.  You  can't  quarrel  here ;  but  you'll  find 
him  outside  some  day.  However,  he  needs  a  rebuke 
from  the  rest  of  us." 

Softly,  yet  penetratingly,  Warhorse  emitted  a 
long-drawn  hiss  from  an  old-fashioned  supplemen 
tary  exhaust,  and  turned  his  one  weak  eye  on  the  ill- 
bred  stranger.  Other  ships  followed  suit;  and  a 
chorus  of  hisses  and  disapproving  glances  descended 
upon  Black  Jack.  He  understood;  the  guns  swung 
to  place  and  the  vicious  eye  looked  ahead.  Vengeful 
had  remained  silent,  and  the  unpleasantness  might 


THE  RIVALS  85 

have  ended  with  the  rebuke;  but  Miss  Dolly  was  at 
work.  She  was  beside  the  Russian,  whispering, 
nodding,  and  curtesying. 

"  He's  smitten  with  her,"  growled  Warhorse. 
"  Wish  they'd  elope."  He  opened  all  his  sponson 
ports,  but  nothing  of  the  conversation  could  be 
heard  at  the  distance.  Soon,  however,  Miss  Dolly 
raced  ahead  and  demurely  took  her  place  at  the 
dock.  Then  a  deep-toned  voice  came  over  the 
water. 

"  So,  you  young  whipper-snapper,  just  out  of  the 
cradle,  you  can  thrash  me,  can  you?  " 

"  I  answer  for  him,"  roared  Warhorse,  in  a  mighty 
burst  of  escaping  steam.  "  He  can  not  only  thrash 
you  with  half  his  guns,  but  when  you  turn  to  run  he 
can  catch  you  under  one  boiler.  He  can  toss  you 
out  of  water  with  his  nose,  or  climb  over  you  and 
drown  you  with  his  weight.  We've  had  enough  of 
your  company.  Let  go  that  buoy  and  go.  Under 
stand  ?  Go !  I  am  the  father  of  the  fleet,  and  what  I 
say  on  these  matters  is  the  law  of  the  fleet." 

Approving  hisses,  groans,  and  growls  from  the 
assembled  ships  followed  this,  and,  as  the  sulky  Rus 
sian  made  no  answer,  they  clamored  at  him  with 
bells — all  striking  eight — one  ship  beginning  as  an 
other  ended.  When  all  had  sounded,  Black  Jack 
responded  in  kind,  and,  in  spite  of  the  apparent  flip 
pancy  of  the  answer,  the  tremble  in  the  notes  told 
his  humiliation.  But  not  even  his  furious  jerks  at  his 
cable,  nor  the  quavering  sobs  and  gasps  he  emitted 
as  he  rolled  heavily  from  side  to  side,  nor  the  thick 
ness  and  blackness  of  the  smoke  belching  from  his 
funnels  were  a  fair  index  of  his  rage.  Before  he 
slipped  his  moorings  he  again  turned  a  gun  on  Venge 
ful — this  time  a  small  four-inch — and  discharged  it 


36  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

unshottea,  repeatedly,  each  bark  holding  a  note  of 
hatred  and  challenge. 

"  Don't  answer,  Vengeful,"  cried  Warhorse,  sooth 
ingly.  "  Act  when  the  time  comes ;  but — I'll  do  the 
talking."  He  "  talked  "  with  a  series  of  barks  from 
a  still  smaller  gun,  the  intent  in  the  choice  meaning 
the  same  as  Black  Jack's — that  big-gun  fire  would 
be  wasted  on  so  poor  an  adversary.  The  Russian 
said  no  more ;  detaching  his  cable  from  the  buoy,  he 
forged  ahead,  turned  abreast  of  Miss  Dolly's  dock, 
and,  with  a  gloomy,  backward  glance  at  the  quies 
cent  young  lady,  steamed  out  to  sea. 

"  Don't  this  put  me  in  rather  a  bad  light?  "  asked 
Vengeful,  discontentedly.  "  I'm  to  fight  him,  I  sup 
pose  ;  but  where  will  I  find  him  ?  " 

"  Mediterranean,"  answered  Warhorse.  "  Didn't 
you  understand  ?  I  told  him  you'd  follow ;  but  you 
need  gun-practice  and  a  little  geography  before  you 
start." 

Geography  Vengeful  learned  at  the  anchorage, 
from  the  ceaseless  gossip  and  conversation  of  the 
ships ;  the  gun-practice  he  secured  in  the  open  sea,  to 
which  he  made  tri-weekly  trips.  And  soon  he  sur 
passed  his  utmost  expectations.  He  could  hit  the 
bull's-eye  of  a  target  a  mile  away  with  a  twelve-inch 
shot  while  under  full  speed,  and  send  a  second  through 
the  same  hole.  The  fleet  was  frankly  proud  of  him, 
and  even  the  flippant  comment  of  the  unprotected 
sisterhood  held  none  of  the  usual  sarcasm,  while  the 
behavior  of  Miss  Dolly  was  most  exemplary — as 
old  Warhorse  put  it :  "  Minding  her  own  business, 
and  sawing  wood  like  a  lady." 

But  her  maidenly  reserve  left  her  when  Vengeful 
was  ready  to  start.  She  left  her  dock  and  hovered 
near  him,  hinting  broadly  that  she  would  be  glad  of 


THE  RIVALS  37 

an  invitation  to  accompany  him.  It  was  not  forth 
coming  ;  Vengeful  was  a  battle-ship,  and,  aside  from 
the  slight  resentment  which  he  felt  toward  the  gos 
sipy  female,  he  had  the  instinctive  aversion  of  all 
battle-ships  to  torpedo-craft  in  general;  for  there  is 
but  one  thing  afloat  feared  by  a  battle-ship — the 
slim,  fish-like  horror  that  an  angry  torpedo-boat  can 
send  at  an  enemy,  the  thing  that  dives  from  a  tube, 
seeks  a  twenty-foot  depth,  and  travels  at  a  thirty- 
knot  rate  in  the  direction  originally  pointed.  If 
swerved  from  this  direction  by  wave-motion,  or  ob 
structing  logs,  buoys,  or  cables,  it  immediately  re 
turns  to  it,  implacable  and  murderous.  When  it 
strikes  it  explodes  and  dies ;  but  its  victim  dies  as 
well;  for  the  mightiest  craft  on  the  sea  cannot 
withstand  the  impact  of  two  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  of  exploding  gun-cotton.  Like  all  of  his  kind, 
Vengeful  carried  torpedo-tubes,  but  only  because 
he  was  born  with  them.  Battle-ships  scorn  their 
use. 

He  had  calmly  and  politely  ignored  hints,  hoping 
to  discourage  her ;  but  she  was  persistent,  and  at  last 
announced,  shamelessly,  that  she  would  accompany 
him,  even  though  he  was  not  polite  enough  to  invite 
her.  Unfortunately,  she  was  to  windward  at  the 
time,  smoking  badly,  and  Vengeful,  choking  in  the 
fumes,  lost  patience. 

"  No,"  he  gasped  and  spluttered,  "  you  won't  ac 
company  me.  You  ought  to  know  better.  Go  away 
— go  away  from  me,  or  else  keep  to  leeward." 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  she  answered.  "  Ought  to  know 
better!  Better  than  what?  The  idea!  Go  away 
from  you !  Keep  to  leeward !  You,  too  ?  I  never 
thought  you'd  insult  me.  And  I  thought  you  were 
a  gentleman." 


38  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  I'm  not,"  he  groaned.  "  Not  with  that  breath 
in  my  face.  Please  go  away." 

"  I  will !  "  she  screamed,  in  shrill,  whistling  accents. 
"  I  just  hate  you,  now,  I  do.  Whee-oop,  whirroop !  " 
and  away  she  raced  in  a  hot  cloud  of  escaping  steam. 
Then  she  came  back,  but  this  time  to  leeward. 

"  I'm  going  just  the  same,"  she  snapped;  "  going 
to  see  you  thrashed."  And  again  she  was  off. 

"  What'll  I  do,  Warhorse?  "  asked  Vengeful,  when 
the  air  was  clear.  "  I  don't  want  her  traipsing  along 
after  me.  Is  there  no  way  to  prevent  her?  I'm 
young  yet,  with  a  good  reputation,  so  far." 

"  One  way." 

"How?" 

"  Drown  her,"  said  Warhorse,  grimly.  "  Drown 
her  before  she  can  work  off  one  of  her  ducklings." 

"  But  I  can't  do  that.  Have  you  no  influence 
over  her?  " 

"  More  than  any  one  else  here,  but  not  enough  to 
control  her  now.  She  is  sensitive  about  her  bad 
breath.  But  I'm  rather  fond  of  the  little  spitfire, 
and  if  she  goes,  I  go  too — to  look  out  for  her.  It'll 
take  most  of  my  time,  no  doubt,  but  if  I  can  be  of 
any  service  in  the  mix — " 

"  Not  at  all.  It'll  be  my  row.  No  one  else  can 
attend  to  that.  Hello,  she's  coming  again." 

Dolly  slowly  approached  and  stopped  between  the 
two. 

"  I  believe,"  she  said  to  Warhorse,  in  an  even, 
sneering  tone,  "  that  I  am  supposed  to  ask  the  father 
of  the  fleet  for  permission  to  go  out." 

"  You  are,"  he  answered,  promptly,  yet  kindly ; 
"  and  you  are  officially  forbidden  to  go.  You  suffer 
from  certain  structural  defects  peculiar  to  your  sex, 
and  you'll  surely  drown  yourself  out  there  in  Biscay. 


THE  RIVALS  &9 

Stay  home  where  you  belong — hold  on,  there ! "  he 
roared.  "  What  are  you  doing?  Don't  point  that 
thing  my  way  " — she  had  swung  a  menacing  torpedo- 
tube  around —  "  Stop,"  he  continued,  almost  plead 
ingly.  "  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Dolly?  " 

"  There's  enough  the  matter  with  me,"  she  an 
swered,  training  a  second  tube  on  Vengeful.  He 
shivered,  and  experienced  the  freezing  sensation  in 
his  veins  which  comes  to  the  bravest  in  time  of  sud 
den  peril,  yet  kept  his  head;  and  Warhorse  bung- 
lingly  endeavored  to  bring  a  four-inch  slow-fire  gun 
in  amidships  sponson  to  bear  on  the  angry  female. 
But  she  saw  him,  hissed  a  warning,  and  the  gun 
swung  back. 

"  I  beg  of  you,  Miss  Dolly,"  said  Vengeful,  gently, 
"  not  to  continue  this  scene.  You  do  yourself  an 
injustice." 

There  was  enough  of  friendliness  in  his  tone,  but 
too  little  of  apology. 

"  Do  I  ?  "  she  answered,  wildly,  her  words  coming 
explosively  from  a  sputtering  safety-valve,  while  her 
funnels  belched  gaseous  poison.  "Injustice?  Not 
half  the  injustice  you  have  done  me,  you  wretch,  you 
villain!  You  made  love  to  me — you  did — you  did! 
And  then  you  insult  me.  I've  a  good  mind  to  kill 
you  both." 

"  Don't,  please  don't,"  said  Vengeful,  in  alarm. 
"  It's  all  a  mistake.  I  never  meant  to  hurt  your 
feelings.  I  didn't  know.  Please  go  away,  now,  and 
think  it  over." 

"  I  won't  go  away.  I  won't  think  any  more.  I've 
thought  until  my  head  aches.  WTiee-ee-ee-oo-oo ! " 
she  shrieked.  "  Whah-whee-whiroo-oo-oo !  "  Then 
followed  an  outburst  of  chattering  laughter,  then 
more  shrieks,  while  she  bobbed  and  rolled  in  the 


40  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

choppy  harbor  sea.  It  was  genuine  hysterics,  and 
wise  old  Warhorse  knew  the  remedy. 

"  Oh,  ho — ho — ho — "  he  laughed.  It  was  a 
forced,  mirthless  laugh,  but  the  agitated  Miss  Dolly 
could  not  differentiate.  "  Oh,  you  great  big  girl, 
aren't  you  ashamed?  Crying  over  a  man.  Every 
body's  listening." 

It  had  its  effect.  She  emitted  a  few  concluding 
sobs  and  sniffs,  then  straightened  her  tubes  and 
went  to  her  dock.  The  danger  passed,  Vengeful 
shook  in  every  plate  and  frame,  though,  to  give  his 
tremors  a  worthier  seeming  to  the  fleet,  he  blew  off 
steam  from  one  boiler,  while  Warhorse,  clumsily 
rigging  out  a  torpedo-net  as  obsolete  as  himself,  mur 
mured,  huskily,  " '  Hell  hath  no  fury,'  and  so 
forth.  Vengeful,"  he  called  over  the  noise  of  steam, 
"  there's  a  sweet  young  thing  for  her  draught,  but  the 
Bay  of  Biscay'll  stop  her,  we'll  hope." 

It  was  as  he  said.  They  left  together,  Vengeful 
cautiously  protesting  at  her  coming,  Warhorse  en 
deavoring  by  sarcasm  and  ridicule  to  discourage  her, 
and  the  young  lady  sulky  and  determined  as  a  spoiled 
child.  She  took  the  lead  down  the  channel,  and, 
once  past  Cape  Mathieu,  disdainfully  shot  ahead 
into  the  troubled  waters  of  the  bay,  against  the  loud 
and  earnest  warning  of  Warhorse.  They  came  up  to 
her  a  little  later,  rolling  in  the  trough,  cold  and 
drenched,  half  full  of  water,  and  barely  breathing. 
Warhorse  swung  his  huge  bulk  around  to  windward 
of  her,  and,  dribbling  oil  to  smooth  the  sea,  gathered 
her  up  to  him;  then  he  put  the  tube  of  a  stomach- 
pump  down  her  throat — or,  technically,  a  six-inch 
suction-hose  down  her  fore-hatch — and  pumped  her 
out.  Vengeful  had  watched  curiously,  and  when 
Dolly's  breathing  and  heart-action  were  normal,  and 


THE  RIVALS  41 

when  she  was  warmed  up  enough  to  thank  her  rescuer, 
Warhorse  called  out: 

"  Now,  Vengeful,  no  use  turning  back — we'll  go 
on ;  you've  the  horse-power,  and  Dolly's  weak.  Give 
her  an  arm — I  mean  a  tow-line." 

"  Most  happy,  I  assure  you,"  murmured  Vengeful, 
politely;  for  the  sight  of  the  drenched  and  woebe 
gone  little  beauty  had  killed  his  anger.  He  ap 
proached  carefully  and  passed  Miss  Dolly  the  end  of 
a  four-inch  steel  hawser,  which  she  tied  to  her  for 
ward  bitts,  and,  being  agitated,  she  tied  an  extremely 
hard  knot — a  mischance  often  happening  in  feminine 
experience  with  shoe-strings ;  then,  with  Warhorse 
leading  and  setting  the  pace — twelve  knots  an  hour 
• — the  cavalcade  proceeded,  with  the  subdued  young 
lady  contentedly  rocking  along  in  the  oil-smeared 
wake  of  Vengeful. 

Steam-boats  are  hard  to  tow;  and  notoriously 
harder  than  all  are  torpedo-boats;  yet  Miss  Dolly, 
with  a  docility  only  explainable  by  her  state  of  health, 
slipped  along  in  a  fairly  straight  line  until  War- 
horse  had  led  them  past  frowning  Gibraltar  and  into 
the  comparatively  smooth  water  of  the  Mediter 
ranean.  But  here,  warmed,  rested,  and  quite  recov 
ered,  she  perhaps  realized  more  keenly  the  humiliating 
position  she  was  in,  and  allowed  her  natural  perverse- 
ness  to  assert  itself.  She  first  called,  in  icily  polite 
terms: 

"  Stop,  if  you  please ;  I  am  quite  able  to  proceed 
alone." 

"  Hold  on  to  her,  Vengeful,"  whispered  Warhorse, 
who  had  heard  the  request.  "  She's  safe  now.  Keep 
the  hawser  taut  so  she  can't  shake  loose.  No  know 
ing  what  she'll  be  up  to." 

"  Let  go  of  me ! "  she  hissed,  spitefully,  a  little 


42  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

later.  "  Do  you  hear  ?  "  But  Vengeful  put  on  speed. 
Now,  it  may  have  been  this  increased  speed,  or  it 
may  have  been  a  shoal  over  which  they  were  passing, 
that  made  steering  at  the  end  of  a  tow-line  rather 
difficult;  but  these  two  factors  together  seemed 
hardly  enough  to  produce  the  wild  yaws  to  starboard 
and  port  which  Dolly  made  after  vainly  waiting  for 
Vengeful  to  "  unhand "  her.  More  probably  her 
chagrin  at  the  hardness  of  the  knot  she  had  tied 
influenced  her.  She  could  not  cast  off,  and  she 
strained  mightily  one  way  and  the  other,  then, 
steadying  herself,  held  back  with  all  her  strength, 
and  the  steel  hawser  sang  like  a  harp-string.  No 
four-inch  wire  rope  can  withstand  the  strain  of  six 
thousand  horse-power  pulling  in  one  direction  and 
sixteen  thousand  pulling  in  the  other.  Dolly's  nose 
lifted  high  out  of  water ;  then  the  hawser  snapped  at 
the  bitts,  and  before  she  had  recovered  from  the  con 
sequent  dive  it  had  whirled  ahead  like  a  whip-lash 
and  sunk  in  a  series  of  tangled  coils  alongside  of 
Vengeful's  port  rail.  There  was  a  crash,  a  burning 
pain  in  his  vitals,  a  furious  racing  of  his  port  en 
gines,  and  he  came  to  a  stop,  with  one  propeller, 
fouled  by  the  steel  wire,  torn  from  the  tail-shaft. 
Dolly  dashed  by  him,  and  before  anxious  old  War- 
horse  had  circled  around  and  joined  him,  she  was  a, 
lessening  spot  on  the  eastern  horizon. 

"  Great  hundred-ton  guns,  Vengeful,  who'd  'a' 
thought  it?  "  said  Warhorse.  "  All  my  fault,  too. 
Hurt  much?" 

"  Some,"  he  groaned,  through  escaping  steam. 
"That  doesn't  bother  me.  What's  the  remedy? 
Where  can  I  doctor  up?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  a  hospital  job.  Malta's  the  place  for 
you.  There's  a  good  graving-dock  there." 


THE  RIVALS  43 

They  went  ahead,  Vengeful  under  one  engine, 
which  was  yet  strong  enough  to  push  him  along  at 
Warhorse's  best  speed.  At  this  it  was  but  a  day  and 
a  half's  run  to  Malta,  but  they  were  destined  not  to 
reach  it  so  soon.  Coming  out  of  Algiers,  as  they 
passed,  was  Miss  Dolly,  and  behind  her  an  elbowing 
crowd  of  steamers,  tugs,  yachts,  and  small  sailing- 
craft,  which  circled  seaward  and  formed  a  ring  many 
miles  in  diameter.  In  the  center  of  this  ring  the  two 
gladiators — the  old  and  the  young,  the  obsolete  and 
the  modern — came  to  a  stop.  They  understood  and 
waited ;  and  far  to  sea,  now  a  mere  speck  on  the 
outer  fringe  of  the  circle,  was  Dolly,  also  waiting. 

"  Talk  about  Samson  and  Delilah,"  growled  War- 
horse.  "  This  beats  all  the  ingratitude  I  ever  heard 
of.  She's  found  Black  Jack,  and  betrayed  you, 
Vengeful." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  she  merely  found  him  first. 
I'm  ready  for  him." 

"  I  can't  advise  much,  Vengeful,  except,  perhaps, 
to  hit  his  gun-positions  with  small  shot  and  his  belt 
with  big  ones.  Hit  below  the  water-line — it's  rulable 
— and  keep  your  head  by  all  means.  I've  lost  all 
my  heavy  guns  and  am  soft  as  pot-metal;  but  I'll 
stay  in  until  he  puts  me  out." 

"  No,  stay  out.     It's  my  argument." 

"  Not  under  one  screw,  my  boy.  Your  turning- 
circle  is  too  small  for  fair-play.  Here  he  comes. 
Good  luck  to  you,  Vengeful." 

Black  Jack  was  coming  out,  belching  dark,  flame- 
flecked  smoke  from  his  two  immense  funnels,  and 
with  his  four  heavy  turret-guns  cocked  in  the  air 
and  swinging  from  side  to  side  as  though  to  limber 
his  muscles.  He  rolled  and  pitched  and  staggered 
in  the  sea,  half  blinded  and  drunk  with  rage;  and 


44  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

this,  with  the  hoarse,  inarticulate  roar  of  steam  from 
his  iron  lungs,  apprised  Vengeful  that,  even  had  he 
desired  it,  no  compromise  was  possible.  At  a  mile's 
distance  the  Russian  lowered  his  guns ;  but  Vengeful 
struck  the  first  blow — he  hit  him  with  a  twelve-inch 
shell  on  the  bulge  of  a  bow  sponson,  and  though  the 
sponson  was  shattered  the  angle  of  impact  was  too 
great,  and  the  shell  glanced  off  without  exploding, 
However,  it  sent  the  host  of  bugs  infesting  the  Rus 
sian  scurrying  to  hatches  and  apertures,  and  Venge 
ful  now  noticed  that  his  own  rather  excited  collec 
tion  had  sought  safety  within  his  Harveyized  cuticle. 
He  hoped  that  none  would  get  hurt,  for  he  had  begun 
to  like  them ;  but  when  an  answering  eight-inch  shell 
crashed  into  his  superstructure,  exploding  within,  he 
gave  up  this  hope  in  the  momentary  agony  of  his  own 
pain,  and  he  knew  by  their  plaintive  buzzing  that 
many  were  injured  and  perhaps  killed.  But  there 
was  no  time  to  further  consider  them.  Black  Jack 
was  now  pounding  him  with  tons  of  steel,  and  he 
responded  in  kind,  while  old  Warhorse  boomed  and 
blustered  with  his  own  futile  gun-fire,  but  did  little 
harm ;  for  on  the  few  occasions  when  he  could  hit 
the  enemy  his  shells  exploded  without  entering  the 
thick  hide. 

On  the  inner  of  two  concentric  circles  Vengeful 
proceeded  with  barely  steerage  way.  On  the  outer, 
Black  Jack  charged  around  at  full  speed.  They 
were  practically  breast  to  breast.  Each  used  smoke 
less  powder,  and  no  obstructing  clouds  obscured 
their  vision;  each  carried  four  twelve-inch  and  a 
broadside  battery  of  eight-inch  guns,  seven  to  a  side ; 
they  were  equally  equipped  with  secondary  "  mur 
dering  guns  " — the  small  calibered,  quick-fire  rifles 
so  menacing  to  gun-ports  and  apertures;  and  both 


THE  RIVALS  45 

were  possessed  of  the  deadly,  pivoted  tubes  amid 
ships  from  which  the  Whitehead  torpedoes  could  be 
driven.  Roaring  and  flaming,  they  drilled  each 
other's  softer  parts  with  solid  shot  and  exploding 
shell,  and  peppered  each  other  with  a  horizontal 
hail  from  their  secondary  guns,  which  rattled  on  the 
steel  walls  like  rain  on  a  roof.  Soon,  over  all  this 
riot  and  roar,  came  a  mournful  cry  from  Warhorse, 
and  Vengeful  looked,  as  he  could,  but  for  a  moment 
saw  nothing  but  a  cloud  of  steam  and  yellow  smoke ; 
then  out  of  it  emerged  the  old  warrior,  low  on  his 
side  and  down  by  the  head.  He  had  mistakenly 
swung  out  of  the  circle  in  an  effort  to  flank  Black 
Jack,  but  only  laid  himself  open  to  the  unused  star 
board  battery  of  eight-inch  guns.  This  fire,  directed 
solely  at  him,  proved  his  undoing.  With  his  boilers 
punctured  and  magazines  exploded,  he  settled  lower 
and  lower;  then,  lifting  his  nose  high  out  of  water, 
he  slid,  gasping  and  gurgling,  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea.  A  few  black,  struggling  mites  reached  the  sur 
face  and  swam  a  few  moments ;  then  a  single  mighty 
bubble  rose  from  the  depths,  burst  in  a  yellow  cloud, 
and  overwhelmed  them. 

Raging  with  fury  at  the  death  of  his  friend,  Venge 
ful  now  fought  with  a  strength  and  ferocity  which 
would  have  soon  ended  the  combat  in  his  favor  had 
not  a  slight  difference  between  himself  and  Black 
Jack  come  into  play  as  a  factor  in  the  interchange 
of  force.  The  Russian's  armor-belt  was  of  equal 
thickness  from  bow  to  stern ;  Vengef ul's,  thicker  than 
Black  Jack's  amidship,  was  thinner  at  the  ends  by 
several  inches.  And  far  down  beneath  the  protective 
deck  in  the  stern,  shielded  only  by  the  thin  armor- 
belt,  was  a  vital  part  which  deserved  better  protec 
tion — the  tiller  and  steering-gear.  A  twelve-inch 


46  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

shell  punctured  the  belt  at  the  water-line,  burst 
within,  and  parts  of  it,  tearing  their  way  downward 
through  the  frail  protective  deck,  shattered  the  tiller 
and  threw  the  rudder  out  of  commission.  He  was 
comparatively  helpless  and  in  awful  pain — able  to 
steam  ahead  at  reduced  speed  and  turn  in  a  circle 
by  the  pressure  of  his  one  propeller,  but  utterly  be 
yond  his  own  control.  Before  he  could  stop  his 
starboard  engines  this  circle,  contrary  to  the  one  he 
had  been  steering,  had  begun;  and  frantic  backing 
only  placed  him  in  a  worse  position,  for  it  threw  him 
around,  facing  the  Russian,  open  to  his  raking  fire, 
and  unable  to  use  his  broadside  batteries.  The  Rus 
sian  halted,  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  his  help 
lessness,  and  before  he  could  swing  himself  farther 
around  with  the  reversed  starboard  engines,  he  was 
drilled  fore  and  aft,  and  half  his  eight-inch  guns 
were  dismounted.  Now  he  gloomily  remembered 
Warhorse's  confident  and  defiant  predictions  at  the 
anchorage  of  the  treatment  that  Black  Jack  was  to 
receive  when  they  met.  The  humiliation  of  his  posi 
tion  overcame  his  pain  and  momentary  doubt,  and 
when  able  to  train  his  remnant  of  guns  on  his  enemy, 
he  blazed  away  again  with  renewed  pertinacity,  hop 
ing  for  a  favorable  moment  when  he  could  steam 
suddenly  ahead  and  ram  the  Russian. 

But  the  moment  did  not  come ;  and  though  his  fire 
was  reducing  Black  Jack  from  a  high-sized  battle 
ship  to  a  shapeless  floating  scrap-heap,  he  himself 
was  suffering  equally,  if  not  more.  Little  by  little 
his  superstructure  was  shot  to  pieces,  and  one  by  one 
his  guns  were  upset  until  he  had  none  left  but  his 
four  large  turret-guns  and  one  eight-inch  gun  amid 
ships,  while  Black  Jack's  armament,  well  protected 
by  armor,  was  still  intact.  In  his  extremity  he 


THE  RIVALS  4*7 

thought  of  his  torpedoes,  but  put  the  thought  from 
him  at  once.  He  would  die  fighting,  but  would  not 
first  dishonor  himself.  So,  still  fighting,  he  awaited 
the  end. 

Yet  there  are  craft  which  have  no  such  scruples 
about  the  use  of  torpedoes.  Stricken  as  he  was,  he 
noticed  a  commotion  in  the  circle  of  spectators,  and 
he  looked  for  the  cause.  Just  within  the  line  was  a 
small  spot,  and  on  each  side  of  it  a  high  wave,  crested 
with  foam.  It  grew  larger,  and  as  it  grew  it  took 
on  the  form  of  a  face — a  determined  little  face  with 
two  defiant  hawse-pipe  eyes.  It  was  Dolly,  and  she 
was  coming:  she  was  in  a  hurry.  Gloomily  specu 
lating  on  her  errand,  wondering  what  was  to  be 
her  next  performance,  Vengeful  remarked  a  cessa 
tion  of  Black  Jack's  fire  and  looked  back  at  him.  He, 
too,  was  coming;  he  had  swung  himself  toward 
Vengeful  and  was  charging  down  on  him,  to  ram — 
to  finish  the  fight  with  one  solid,  smashing  blow  that 
would  kill  him.  Faster  and  faster  he  rushed  until 
but  four  hundred  yards  separated  him  from  Venge 
ful;  but  faster  still  came  Miss  Dolly;  then  she  shot 
between  them,  and  only  now  did  the  demoralized 
Vengeful  realize  that  her  tubes  were  trained  to  port 
— toward  the  Russian.  One  by  one  as  she  came  to 
bear  three  pointed  cylinders  leaped  into  the  sea,  and 
three  streaks  of  bubbles  darted  toward  the  Russian ; 
but  before  they  reached  him  Dolly  was  riddled  into  a 
sieve  by  the  shower  of  small  shot  which  Black  Jack 
sent  from  his  murdering  guns.  Whimpering  with 
pain,  she  passed  out  of  range ;  but  her  work  was  done. 
Black  Jack  tossed  a  jagged  and  torn  nose  nearly  out 
of  water;  then  this  nose  twisted  sidewise;  then  he 
quivered  convulsively  and  a  camel's  hump  arose  amid 
ships,  while  the  pile  of  scrap-iron  topping  it  was 


48  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

thrown  aside.  A  third  convulsion  racked  him,  and  his 
whole  after  end  disintegrated;  then  over  the  shat 
tered  hulk  lifted  a  mighty,  many-hued  cloud — all  this 
to  the  music  of  thunderous  reports  and  crashings  as 
torpedoes  burst  and  magazines-  exploded.  Black 
Jack  was  broken  in  pieces,  and  his  divided  parts, 
wrenched  asunder  from  unequal  stress  of  entering 
water,  sank  separately.  He  had  uttered  no  word — 
he  was  killed  by  the  first  torpedo. 

Vengeful  breathed  hoarsely ;  he  was  sick  and  faint 
from  the  reaction  of  feeling,  half  dead  from  pain  and 
fatigue,  but  yet  able  to  rouse  himself  as  a  small  craft, 
low  down  in  the  water,  crept  up  to  his  side. 

"  Bless  you  for  this,  Dolly,"  he  said.  "  I'll  never 
forget  it — never.  I  was  about  done  for  when  you 
came." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  mournfully.  "But  I  knew  it 
was  your  first  fight,  Mr.  Vengeful,  and  that  you  were 
also  at  a  disadvantage,  too.  I'm  very  sorry,  now. 
And  then,  too  " — she  was  still  lower  in  the  water  and 
settling  rapidly — "  you  see,  I'm  English  myself,  and 
I  never  liked  him  at  all.  I  told  you — you  remember? 
I  told  you  at  home  " — she  was  gasping  now,  and 
very  close  to  his  side — "  and  then,  too,  I  love  you." 

She  went  under  as  she  spoke  the  last  word,  but 
not  far.  While  she  had  been  talking,  Vengeful  had 
been  acting — and  never  before  had  he  so  thoroughly 
appreciated  the  intelligence  and  efficiency  of  his 
entomological  contingent.  They  aided  him  mightily, 
and  just  in  time  he  slipped  two  mooring-chains  under 
her ;  then  he  lifted  her  up. 

"  Now,  little  girl,"  he  said,  gently,  when  she  was 
able  to  listen,  "  when  we're  doctored  up  a  little  we'll 
go  home.  And  you  can  tell  the  fleet  that  I  have 
found  a  sweetheart." 


A  CHEMICAL  COMEDY  49 


A  CHEMICAL  COMEDY 

IT  was  to  be  a  grand  reception  and  ball — the 
grandest  and  greatest  ever  given  on  board  a  war 
ship.  Society — official  and  civil — at  Malta  was  in 
vited,  and  dressmakers  and  tailors  worked  overtime 
preparing  society  for  the  event.  Army  men  of  the 
garrison,  navy  men  of  visiting  warships,  furbished 
up  gold  lace  and  discussed  international  etiquette ; 
while  bandmasters,  ashore  and  afloat,  contested  for 
possession  of  the  latest  dance-music,  and  drilled  their 
men  mercilessly,  in  the  hope  of  being  chosen.  There 
was  reason  for  the  hope.  With  the  Argyll's  large 
crew  banished  to  boat-work  or  to  the  bowels  of  the 
ship,  there  was  room  on  her  spacious  upper-decks  for 
five  hundred  dancers,  and  much  music  would  be 
needed.  Even  the  crew  that  expected  banishment 
caught  the  infection  of  preparation,  and  each  in 
dividual  sailorman,  in  off  moments  snatched  from 
polishing  the  ship,  polished  himself  in  the  hope  of  a 
station  or  duty  which  would  make  him  a  spectator 
of  the  ball.  In  this  spirit,  and  to  this  end,  Old  Man 
Finnegaii  made  himself  a  pair  of  white  duck 
trousers. 

Innocent  and  simple-minded  as  a  child  when  sober, 
Finnegan  was  yet  an  expert  with  the  needle,  and  he 
brought  to  the  making  of  these  trousers  the  skill 
and  experience  of  thirty  years  in  the  service.  When 
finished,  and  the  starch  scrubbed  out  of  them,  they 
were  a  garment  to  be  proud  of,  a  source  of  envy — 
stitched,  starred,  and  crow-footed  in  silk — and, 
metaphorically  speaking,  white  as  the  sins  of  a  saved 
sinner.  Filled  with  and  inspired  by  the  motion  of 
Finnegan's  attenuated  legs,  they  even  possessed  a 


50  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

flowing  and  wavering  grace  of  their  own — a  flutter 
ing  of  light  and  shade  and  an  interchange  of  in 
definite  lines  of  beauty,  due  no  doubt  to  the  ex 
tremely  wide  bottoms  he  had  given  them — wider 
than  the  regulations  prescribed. 

Such  little  vanities  of  dress,  though  sternly  re 
pressed  in  the  younger  men,  were  winked  at  in  the 
older,  and  Finnegan's  new  trousers  aroused  disap 
proval  in  the  mind  of  but  one  man — an  unkind  per 
son  named  Thompson,  the  third  master-at-arms — 
who  had  charge  of  the  brig,  and  occasionally  locked 
Finnegan  therein.  As  he  seldom  met  the  old  man 
when  sober,  he  had  formed  an  estimate  of  his  char 
acter  based  wholly  upon  his  aggressiveness  and  lack 
of  reverence  for  petty  officers  when  drunk,  and  his 
disapproval  of  the  trousers  was  but  part  of  a  compre 
hensive  disapproval  of  Finnegan.  When  he  found 
him  parading  the  berth-deck  in  his  new  vestments 
he  was  quick  to  report  him  to  the  officer  of  the  deck 
for  dressing  contrary  to  regulation,  and  as  quick  to 
escort  him  into  the  official  presence.  Finnegan  eyed 
his  accuser  reproachfully,  and  saluted  the  officer  of 
the  deck. 

"  Turn  around,"  said  the  latter,  as  he  critically 
studied  the  offending  trousers.  Finnegan  turned 
slowly  in  his  tracks,  once,  twice,  three  times,  and 
was  beginning  the  fourth  turn  when  the  officer  halted 
him. 

"  Make  them  yourself?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Finnegan.  "  Made  'em  for 
the  ball,  sir." 

The  officer  smiled  and  said :  "  A  remarkably  good 
fit — a  workmanlike  and  a  seamanly  job.  I  see  noth 
ing  wrong  with  the  dimensions,  Mr.  Thompson  " — 
this  to  the  master-at-arms — "  but  I  do  see  something 


A  CHEMICAL  COMEDY  51 

wrong  with  your  coat-buttons.  One  is  a  little  out 
of  line.  You'd  better  fix  it." 

The  abashed  petty  officer  departed,  and  the  lieu 
tenant  said  to  Finnegan :  "  We  will  need  a  few  neat 
and  tidy  men  on  the  quarter-deck.  Take  care  of 
those  trousers,"  he  said,  "  and  perhaps  we  can  use 
you  at  the  ball." 

"  Thank  ye,  sir,"  answered  the  delighted  old  man. 
"  I  will,  sir." 

Now  be  it  said  that  Finnegan  was  the  last  man  on 
board  to  be  useful  at  a  ball.  His  appointment  was 
merely  one  of  the  hundreds  of  small  favors  which  the 
old  man  continually  received  from  officers  and  men; 
but  he  went  forward,  rejoicing  in  the  official  endorse 
ment  of  his  trousers,  and  became  in  time  so  puffed 
up  with  pride  that,  forgetting  the  officer's  injunction 
to  care  for  them,  he  gave  away  to  less  fortunate  ship 
mates  all  his  older  and  now  despised  duck  trousers, 
leaving  the  new  ones  all  he  had  to  wear  whenever 
the  officer  of  the  deck  decreed  that  white  was  to  be 
the  uniform  of  the  day.  This  happened  quite  often 
before  the  day  set  for  the  ball,  but  Finnegan's  luck 
stood  by  him  up  to  within  a  week  of  this  eventful 
occasion;  then  one  day,  boat-work  being  heavy,  he 
was  called  to  man  an  oar,  with  no  time  to  change 
from  dress-ducks  to  working-ducks,  and,  clad  in  his 
immaculate  trousers,  went  ashore  in  a  boat  for  a  load 
of  contributed  fireworks  from  the  torpedo  station. 
Here  his  luck  failed  him ;  the  sudden  presence  of  the 
busy  boat's  crew  somewhat  disconcerted  the  working 
force  at  the  station;  regular  work  was  interrupted, 
and  the  attendant  of  a  fuming  bath  of  mixed  acids 
left  it  unguarded  for  a  few  moments  to  wait  upon 
the  visitors.  Finnegan,  passing  by  at  this  time,  with 
his  evil  star  in  the  ascendant,  must  needs  slip,  stum- 


52  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

ble,  and  sit  down  in  this  bath  of  acids.  He  arose 
quickly,  and  yelled  wth  pain  as  he  burned  his  fingers 
on  his  dripping  trousers ;  then  they  surrounded  him. 

"  Three  parts  sulphuric,"  said  the  superintendent 
to  the  youthful  officer  in  charge.  "  Get  him  aboard 
quickly,  or  it  will  skin  him  alive  when  it  soaks 
through." 

They  stuffed  the  seat  of  the  trousers  with  dry  cot 
ton-waste  and  pulled  off  to  the  ship,  with  Finnegan 
standing  erect  mourning  the  mishap  to  his  vest 
ments.  But  even  so  guarded,  the  acids  got  to  work ; 
they  hoisted  him  up  howling,  and  sent  him  to  the 
sick-bay  for  treatment.  He  averred  painfully  that 
he  "  felt  like  he'd  sot  on  a  hot  stove." 

He  was  quite  recovered  in  a  few  days,  but  the 
trousers  were  not.  Where  the  acids  had  touched 
they  were  stained  in  ineradicable  yellow.  He 
scrubbed  them  with  hot  fresh  water  and  salt-water 
soap — as  strong  an  alkali  as  is  convenient  to  use; 
he  rendered  them  clean,  but  they  were  still  yellow. 
Excepting  the  scornful  master-at-arms,  the  whole 
ship's  company  under  the  rating  of  warrant-officer 
offered  sympathy  and  advice.  Finnegan  tried  all 
the  remedies — caustic  soda,  wood-ash  lye,  lime-water, 
and  ammonia.  Nothing  availed — the  yellow  spot 
remained,  and  he  disconsolately  adopted  the  last  ad 
vice  given  and  painted  them  with  a  mixture  of  pre 
cipitated  chalk  and  alcohol,  obtained  from  the 
apothecary's  clerk.  This  succeeded,  and  he  proudly 
took  his  position  on  the  quarter-deck  on  the  day  of 
the  ball,  with  his  trousers  glistening  in  all  their 
pristine  purity. 

His  duties  were  nominal — merely  to  stand  by  the 
flagstaff  at  the  taffrail  and  answer  salutes  of  pass 
ing  craft,  while  the  quartermaster  who  should  have 


A  CHEMICAL  COMEDY  53 

attended  to  this  was  stationed  at  the  gangway.  All 
boats  were  in  service,  passing  back  and  forth  from 
the  ship  to  the  landing-stage,  and  soon  the  deck  was 
filled  with  laughing,  dancing  humanity,  which  en 
joyed  itself  to  the  utmost  with  only  an  occasional 
glance  and  thought  for  the  quiet,  benign  old  sailor 
who  stood  at  the  taffrail.  But  he  thought  steadily 
of  these  people,  and  of  the  good  times  they  were 
having,  and  the  good  things  that  were  being  handed 
around  to  them  by  a  corps  of  shore  waiters.  He  was 
getting  very  tired,  standing  so  long  in  one  place,  and 
could  not  be  blamed  for  wanting  a  stimulant ;  nor 
could  the  shore  waiter,  who  obeyed  his  order  for 
"  straight  whisky  and  a  leetle  water  on  the  side,"  be 
blamed  for  serving  him,  for  he  did  not  know,  and 
Finnegan  spoke  with  authority.  It  did  the  old  man 
good,  and  in  time  he  ordered  more,  and  then  more, 
and  still  more  of  the  intoxicant,  to  the  result  that 
when  the  fun  and  laughter  were  at  the  highest  his 
stability  was  at  its  lowest,  but  his  intelligence  was 
still  sufficient  to  provide  for  the  future.  He  bravely 
ordered  a  whole  bottle,  which,  being  oval  in  cross- 
section,  he  easily  squeezed  into  the  seat  of  his  trou 
sers — the  best  hiding-place  under  the  circumstances. 

But  the  waiter  thought  it  a  little  irregular,  and 
spoke  to  the  caterer  who  employed  him.  This  func 
tionary  inspected  Finnegan,  and  spoke  to  an  officer 
— it  happened  to  be  the  one  who  had  placed  Finne 
gan  there — and  the  officer  came,  and  saw,  and  spoke 
to  the  third  master-at-arms,  who  happened  to  be  at 
hand.  Mr.  Thompson  approached  Finnegan,  waving 
his  baton  officiously. 

"  Come !  "  he  said,  sternly,  as  he  collared  the  old 
man.  "  Come — out  o'  this  with  you !  Who  gave  you 
the  right  to  get  drunk  on  the  quarter-deck?  " 


54  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  Not  drunk,  Misher  Thompson — jess  'joyin* 
m'shelf,"  protested  Finnegan. 

Those  nearest  began  to  be  interested,  and  a  few 
ladies  moved  away.  Mr.  Thompson  was  wisely  and 
justly  disposed  to  forestall  further  embarrassment; 
he  swung  Finnegan  around  at  arm's-length  and  gave 
him  a  sharp  spank  with  his  baton. 

There  was  a  dull,  puffing  report — something  like 
the  cough  of  a  pneumatic  tube — a  faint  cloud  of 
smoke  in  the  air,  the  rattling  of  a  bottle  on  the  deck, 
and  an  aged  sailor  racing  forward  through  the 
astonished  throng  of  guests,  yelling  incoherently  and 
holding  his  hand  where  the  seat  of  his  trousers 
should  be,  but  was  not — this  section  of  the  rear  ele 
vation  being  replaced  by  an  equal  expanse  of  still 
intact  blue  flannel  underwear.  Leaving  behind  him 
a  trail  of  sparks  and  thinning  smoke,  the  human 
comet  disappeared  into  the  superstructure,  while  Mr. 
Thompson,  his  eyes  bulging  from  his  head,  followed 
with  the  unbroken  bottle. 

Officers  and  guests — among  the  latter  the  super 
intendent  of  the  torpedo  station — crowded  below, 
and  found  Finnegan  backed  up  against  a  bulkhead , 
surrounded  by  questioning  shipmates.  He  was  sober 
now,  but  shocked  almost  out  of  his  faculties.  He 
could  only  stammer,  "He  shot  me — he  shot  me,  an' 
busted  the  bloomin'  bottle." 

"  But  I  didn't  shoot  him,"  said  the  master-at-arms> 
holding  up  the  bottle.  "  And  I  didn't  bust  the  bot 
tle.  This  one  dropped  out,  and  it  must  ha'  been 
something  else ;  but  there's  no  broken  glass  around." 

They  examined  the  vacancy  in  the  trousers.  The 
edge  of  the  cloth  was  seared  by  flame,  and  a  few 
sparks  still  smoldered. 

"  Are  you  the  man  who  sat  down  in  the  dipping- 


A  CHEMICAL  COMEDY  55 

tub  ashore  at  the  station  ?  "  asked  the  superinten 
dent. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Finnegan. 

"  Same  trousers?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What  did  you  do  to  them?  Try  to  scrub  the 
yellow  out  of  them?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Scrubbed  wi'  everything,  but  couldn't 
get  'em  white,  an'  so  I  painted  'em." 

"  Scrubbed  with  soda?  "  asked  the  superintendent, 
a  grin  coming  to  his  face. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  an'  soap  an'  lime-water,  an'  then  I  had 
to  paint  'em  wi'  chalk-paint." 

The  superintendent  turned  to  the  master-at-arms. 
"  Did  he  have  that  bottle  tucked  into  his  trousers  ?  " 

"  Must  have,  sir.  Everything  carried  away  all  of 
a  sudden,  and  it  fell  out.  I  just  hit  him  a  light 
tap." 

The  superintendent  sat  down  on  a  convenient 
bench,  uttering  strange,  explosive  sounds.  It  was 
some  moments  before  these  sounds  began  to  take  on 
the  pitch  and  timbre  of  laughter,  and  some  moments 
later  when  he  could  speak  intelligibly.  Then  he 
gasped  between  paroxysms :  "  Every  detail  followed 
out — soaking  in  acids,  scrubbing  with  soda,  rinsing 
well,  undoubtedly  all  free  acids  expelled,  lime-water 
and  precipitated  chalk.  Gentlemen,  he  turned  the 
seat  of  his  trousers  into  gun-cotton,  and  it  exploded 
when  struck." 

But  this  did  not  impress  Finnegan.  While  he 
lived  he  regarded  the  master-at-arms  as  an  enemy 
who  had  attempted  his  life. 


56  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH 

fTlHE  Argyll's  crew  had  been  dismissed  from 
A  quarters,  and  the  usual  sea-drill  was  now  on. 
Three  men,  idlers  for  the  moment,  met  casually  on 
the  after  superstructure-deck  and  discussed — not 
the  subject  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  the  whole 
ship's  company,  the  prospect  of  meeting  the  enemy 
before  dark — but  Finnegan — poor,  disgraceful  old 
Finnegan,  the  ship's  drunkard,  who  had  appeared 
at  quarters  fairly  steady  of  legs  and  voice,  but  the 
center  of  an  atmosphere  of  whisky  fumes  which,  like 
other  radiant  energy,  decreased  in  potency  only  with 
the  square  of  the  distance.  The  three  were  the  first 
lieutenant,  the  surgeon,  and  the  chaplain. 

"  Wonder  where  he  gets  it?  "  the  surgeon  had  re 
marked.  "  My  stores  are  intact ;  stewards  don't 
miss  any." 

"  Makes  it,"  answered  Mr.  Clarkson,  the  first  lieu 
tenant,  twirling  a  couple  of  large  keys  around  his 
finger  by  the  ring.  "  Makes  it,  inside  or  out.  He 
may  have  a  private  still  in  his  ditty-box,  or  else  he 
swallows  corn,  rice,  barley — anything  at  all — and 
distills  it  in  his  stomach.  I've  brigged  him  until  I'm 
tired ;  it  does  him  no  good." 

"  Let  him  alone,  then,"  said  the  surgeon. 

"  A  horrible  enslavement ! — truly  horrible !  "  said 
the  chaplain,  a  young  man,  with  fine  eyes,  delicate 
features,  and  a  rather  weak  mouth.  "  What  can  be 
done  for  him?  I  have  talked  with  him  when  sober, 
and  he  promises ;  I  have  prayed  for  him  when  he  has 
broken  his  promise,  and  that  is  all  that  I  can  do.  I 
cannot  approach  him  when  in  that  condition.  It  is 
unchristianlike,  I  know,  but  I  cannot.  The  disgust 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH  57 

and  horror  inspired  by  drunkenness  are  overmaster 
ing.  I  fear  I  am  out  of  place  here." 

"  Nonsense !  "  laughed  the  surgeon.  "  Let  Finne- 
gan  alone.  When  sober,  he's  a  fool ;  when  drunk,  a 
capable  man — at  least,  he  is  at  his  best.  Finnegan's 
cerebral  connections  are  reversed.  Stop  his  nour 
ishment,  and  you  make  him  feel  as  you  would  if  you 
filled  up;  he'd  have  all  the  frills — languor,  remorse, 
double  vision,  liver  out  of  plumb — bad  headache — " 

"Hello!  what's  up?"  interrupted  Mr.  Clarkson, 
laying  the  keys  on  a  gun-breech  and  picking  up  a 
weather-worn  pair  of  binoculars  which  lay  around 
for  any  one's  use.  He  looked  ahead,  where  bunting 
was  flying  from  the  signal-yard  of  the  flagship.  A 
first  lieutenant  usually  has  most  of  the  naval  code 
in  his  head. 

"  Double  column,"  he  said,  as  he  made  out  the 
signal.  "  A  matter  for  the  man  at  the  wheel  and  the 
engineer;  but  I'll  go  forward." 

"  And  I'll  get  down  to  my  sick  men,"  said  the  sur 
geon,  also  turning  toward  the  steps.  "  And,  say, 
Mr.  Parmlee,"  he  added,  from  the  top  stair,  "  better 
give  Finnegan  up,  or  hand  him  over  to  me." 

He  followed  the  first  lieutenant,  and  the  young 
chaplain,  with  troubled  face,  leaned  against  the  six- 
pounder,  on  which  lay  the  keys  left  by  Mr.  Clarkson. 
He  spied  them,  and  absently  picked  them  up ;  then 
he  peered  forward  and  about,  watching  the  method 
ical  shifting  of  ships  from  single  to  double  column. 
Soon  he  was  conscious  that  some  one  had  ascended 
the  steps,  and  was  now  behind  him.  Turning,  he 
saw  Finnegan,  who  seemed,  in  the  strong  sunlight, 
to  be  a  little  more  watery-eyed,  a  little  more  unsure 
of  his  footing — in  short,  a  little  drunker — than  he 
had  been  at  quarters.  He  shuffled  his  feet,  smiled 


58  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

vacantly,  and  knuckled  his  forehead.  Mr.  Parmlee 
shuddered,  and  moved  over  toward  a  ventilator,  on 
the  lower  rim  of  which  Mr.  Clarkson  had  placed  the 
binoculars.  He  lifted  them  to  his  eyes — an  opera 
tion  requiring  both  hands — and  nervously  scanned 
the  ships  of  the  squadron.  Finnegan  approached. 

"  'Xcuse  me,  sir,"  he  began,  but  the  chaplain 
moved  away. 

"  'Xcuse  me,  sir,"  continued  Finnegan,  following, 
"  but  did  ye  know,  sir — " 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  down  to  your  duties  ?  "  asked 
the  disturbed  chaplain.  "  Have  you  nothing  to  do?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  jess  wanted  to  ask  ye,  sir — " 

Mr.  Parmlee  moved  on,  and  Finnegan  shuffled 
after. 

"  Jess  wanted  to  ask  ye,  sir,  if  ye  didn't  want  the 
keys." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Clarkson  appeared,  hurrying 
aft  on  the  superstructure.  He  spied  the  grinning, 
stumbling,  and  aggressive  Finnegan,  and  noticed 
the  annoyance,  which  was  almost  fear,  in  the  face  of 
the  retreating  chaplain. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  said,  sharply.  "  What  are  you 
doing  up  here  ?  Down  below  with  you,  quickly ! 
Corporal,"  he  called  down  to  the  quarter-deck,  "  take 
this  man  below  and  hand  him  over  to  the  master-at- 
arms.  Put  him  in  the  brig  for  drunkenness." 

So  Finnegan  was  led  down.  His  hammock  was 
slung  in  the  brig — the  slatted  apartment  in  which 
misbehaving  man-of-war's-men  are  confined — and 
he  turned  into  dreamless  sleep,  while  his  mates  above 
drilled  and  perspired,  and  the  conscience-stricken 
chaplain,  locked  in  his  room,  prayed  fervently  for 
courage  and  strength  and  self-control  to  aid  him  in 
his  duty  to  the  souls  in  his  care. 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH  59 

At  dinner  time  he  visited  the  brig ;  but  Finnegan's 
snores  apprised  him  that  he  was  not  yet  in  a  receptive 
or  responsive  condition,  and  with  a  sigh  of  mingled 
shame  and  relief — for  the  good  intent  had  cost  him 
a  struggle — he  left  him  to  finish  his  sleep.  At  two 
o'clock  Finnegan  wakened,  sober.  He  vociferated 
loudly  for  water,  complaining  of  "  hot  coppers,"  and, 
when  this  was  given  him,  he  asked  for  his  dinner.  A 
sympathetic  and  envious  messmate  brought  what  had 
been  saved  for  him,  and,  on  Finnegan's  inquiring 
what  he  was  "  in  for,"  told  him  that  he  had  pursued 
the  sky-pilot  around  the  superstructure-deck,  intent 
upon  braining  him  with  a  breech-block,  and  that  it 
had  taken  six  marines  and  a  corporal  to  subdue  him. 
He  would  certainly  be  court-martialed  and  dismissed 
the  service  in  disgrace.  To  which  Finnegan  re 
sponded,  mournfully,  that  he  "  didn't  'member 
nothin'  about  it." 

But  the  tale  reduced  him  to  a  penitent  frame  of 
mind,  which  inspired  him  to  respond  warmly  to  the 
forgiving  chaplain's  prayers  when  he  called  a  little 
later;  and,  as  Mr.  Parmlee,  with  a  delicacy  equaled 
only  by  Finnegan's,  made  no  reference  to  the  cause 
of  his  incarceration,  but  merely  begged  that,  for  his 
sake,  if  not  his  own,  he  would  stop  drinking,  the  re 
morseful  prisoner  stoutly  averred  that  the  chaplain 
was  a  good  man,  that  he  would  oblige  him — that  he 
had  taken  his  last  drink,  and  henceforth  would  lead 
a  sober  life.  And  Mr.  Parmlee  departed,  with  re 
viving  hope  for  Finnegan  and  a  glowing  sense  of 
duty  well  performed. 

He  sought  the  after  superstructure-deck,  where  he 
had  talked  with  the  surgeon  and  first  lieutenant  in 
the  morning,  and  here  he  found  the  former,  peering 
through  the  binoculars  at  a  long  line  of  black  spots 


60  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

drawn  up  in  battle  formation  on  the  horizon  ahead. 

"  The  enemy,  Mr.  Parmlee,"  he  said,  handing  him 
the  glasses.  "  We'll  be  hammer  and  tongs  at  him 
in  half  an  hour.  All  ready  in  your  department? 
I'm  prepared — knives  and  saws  all  sharpened,  gallons 
of  chloroform,  tubs  of  water,  bales  of  bandages, 
everything  ready  for  the  good  work." 

The  chaplain  took  the  glasses,  but,  before  he  could 
adjust  them  to  his  eyes  or  reply  to  the  surgeon,  the 
bugle-call  to  general  quarters  sounded,  and  for  a 
few  minutes  the  great  battle-ship  seemed  a  floating 
bedlam.  Men  swarmed  from  below,  scurried  about, 
sprang  from  high  places  to  low,  from  low  to  high ; 
they  did  things  to  boats,  davits,  ventilators,  gratings, 
ladders,  and  hatches ;  then,  stripping  their  shirts 
from  their  backs  as  they  ran,  disappeared  through 
ports,  hatches,  and  companions.  And  now,  up  the 
steps  on  a  run,  anxious  of  face  and  wild  of  eye,  came 
Mr.  Clarkson. 

"  Did  you  see  the  keys  ?  "  he  asked,  hurriedly,  as 
he  approached  and  looked  about.  "  The  keys  of 
the  magazines?  I  had  them  at  inspection  quarters, 
and  I  had  them  up  here.  What  did  I  do  with  them? 
Did  either  of  you  notice?  " 

"  No,"  they  both  answered,  as  they  aided  in  the 
search.  "  Saw  them  on  your  finger,"  added  the  sur 
geon.  "  Didn't  you  take  them  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  I  must  have  laid  them  down  here  some 
where.  I  went  right  to  my  room,  but  don't  remem 
ber  putting  them  away,  and  they're  not  there  now. 
Great  Heavens,  this  is  awful !  I'll  be  laughed  out  of 
the  service,  if  not  court-martialed  and  broken.  Got 
machinists  at  work  cutting  round  the  locks,  but  it's 
a  four-hours'  job,  and  we'll  be  at  it  in  no  time.  And 
we  can't  fight — we  can't  fire  a  gun;  and  we're  the 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH  61 

only  ship  in  the  lot  fit  to  engage  that  crowd  ahead. 
I  haven't  told  the  old  man  yet — not  yet,  while  there's 
a  chance  to  find  them.  Great  God !  Where  are  they, 
anyhow?  " 

He  groaned  as  he  mopped  the  perspiration  from 
his  face. 

"  I  remember,  Mr.  Clarkson,"  said  the  chaplain, 
thoughtfully.  "  You  laid  them  here  on  this  gun,  and 
then—" 

"  Yes,  by  George,  I  did !  "  responded  the  officer, 
joyously,  as  he  rummaged  about  the  gun-breech  and 
the  deck  beneath;  "but  where  are  they  now?"  he 
asked,  and  his  face  took  on  the  troubled  look. 

"  And  then,"  continued  the  chaplain,  doubtfully, 
"  after  you  had  gone,  I  picked  them  up." 

"  Where  did  you  put  them  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea — I  do  not  know — 
I  cannot  remember." 

"  Try— for  God's  sake,  try !  Did  you  take  them 
below?" 

"  I  am  positive  that  I  did  not.  Still,  we  can  look 
in  my  room.  I  was  somewhat  agitated  at  the  time." 

Down  rushed  the  three  to  the  chaplain's  room ;  but 
the  closest  search  failed  to  discover  the  missing  keys. 

"  What  were  you  agitated  about,  Mr.  Parmlee  ?  " 
asked  the  surgeon. 

"  Why,  I  confessed  to  you  my  weakness,  did  I 
not?  It  was  Finnegan's  incomprehensible  behavior. 
He  was  trying  to  accost  me." 

"Drunk,  was  he?  Then  there  was  method  in  his 
incomprehensible  behavior.  What  did  he  say?  What 
did  he  do?" 

"  Did  he  have  the  keys  ?  "  asked  the  lieutenant, 
starting  toward  the  door. 

"  Wait.     Let  me  think,"  said  Mr.  Parmlee,  with 


62  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

his  hand  pressing  his.  forehead.  "  I  believe  that  he 
did  say  something  about  keys ;  but  what  it  was  I 
cannot  remember." 

"  Come  on,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  and  away  they 
hurried  to  the  brig,  where  a  sentry  admitted  them. 
Finnegan  was  asleep  again,  but  they  ruthlessly  awak 
ened  him,  and  he  rolled  out  of  his  hammock,  blinking 
his  eyes  and  knuckling  his  brow.  He  was  as  sober 
as  the  chaplain. 

"  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  it,  sir,"  he  stuttered. 
"  I  wouldn't  ha'  done  nothin'  only  I  was  loaded,  sir. 
He's  a  good  man,  sir,  an'  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of 
his  head." 

"  Finnegan,"  demanded  the  lieutenant,  impres 
sively,  "  what  did  you  do  with  the  keys  ?  " 

"Keys,  sir!     What  keys?" 

"  The  keys  that  you  found  on  the  superstructure- 
deck  just  before  you  were  taken  down  by  the  cor 
poral." 

"  I  don't  'member  anything  'bout  that,  sir.  They 
told  me  I  'most  killed  the  chaplain,  but  I  don't  know 
anything  'bout  it,  sir.  I  wouldn't  hurt  him  for  all 
the  world,  sir." 

Mr.  Clarkson  groaned  in  despair. 

"  Finnegan,"  interposed  the  chaplain,  "  try  and 
think.  Don't  you  remember  that  you  wanted  to 
speak  with  me?  Don't  you  remember  saying  some 
thing  about  keys?  I  cannot  remember  what  it  was. 
Can  you?  Try  and  think." 

But  Finnegan's  bewilderment  only  increased,  and 
he  protested  again  that  he  meant  no  harm,  and  knew 
nothing  of  what  he  had  done. 

"  Come  outside,"  said  the  surgeon ;  and  they  fol 
lowed  through  the  door,  beyond  Finnegan's  range  of 
hearing. 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH  63 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,"  he  said.  "  We 
must  get  him  drunk  again.  If  we  knew  his  brand  of 
whisky,  it  would  be  better;  but  we  must  get  him  as 
drunk  as  he  was,  and  quickly,  too.  Then  he  will 
remember  what  was  on  his  mind  up  there.  He  must 
be  assisted,  too.  We  have  no  time  to  lose,  and  he 
might  take  too  long  to  load  up — stomach's  too  sour 
to  take  in  much  right  away.  Can  you  spare  the 
time,  Clarkson  ?  " 

"  No,  no — Heavens,  no !  I  ought  to  be  on  the 
bridge  now,  or  in  the  turret." 

"  I  have  no  time,  either.  Candidly,  Mr.  Parmlee, 
I  was  joking  when  I  said  I  was  prepared  for  wounded 
men.  I  am  not.  My  sick-bay  is  full  of  patients 
and  everything  is  in  confusion.  I  belong  there  now. 
It  is  for  you." 

"  I !  "  exclaimed  the  chaplain,  in  accents  of  horror. 
"  I — make  him  intoxicated?  I  cannot!  " 

"  You  can,"  said  the  surgeon,  vehemently.  "  You 
and  the  captain  are  the  only  idlers  in  the  ship  when 
going  into  action.  And  the  captain  must  not  be 
told,  unless  the  case  is  hopeless.  Would  you  see 
Clarkson  ruined  for  your  fault  in  mislaying  those 
keys?  You  or  old  Finnegan  had  them  last,  you 
know.  And  it  won't  help  matters  to  lay  it  on  to 
Finnegan.  Would  you  see  this  fleet  defeated  to-day? 
Are  you  under  no  obligations  to  your  country? 
Your  duty,  Mr.  Parmlee,  requires  that  you  lay  aside 
all  personal  scruples  and  get  this  man  drunk  as 
quickly  as  you  can.  You  must  pour  it  down  his 
throat — and,  if  necessary,  you  must  drink  with  him 
to  encourage  him." 

"I  cannot!  I — a  minister  of  the  Gospel?  Only 
this  afternoon  I  adjured  him  to  give  it  up.  No;  is 
there  no  other  way  ?  Are  there  no  duplicate  keys  ?  " 


64  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  There  were,"  answered  the  agonized  lieutenant, 
"  but  they  went  overboard,  and  have  not  been  re 
placed.  Decide  quickly,  Mr.  Parmlee.  You  are  the 
only  man  aboard  with  leisure  at  this  moment.  Every 
one  else,  from  the  captain  down  to  the  band-drum 
mer,  has  a  station  and  a  duty." 

"  And  you  will  go  down  with  Clarkson,"  added  the 
surgeon,  warmly.  "  You  are  the  one  who  really  lost 
the  keys.  Shall  we  tell  this  to  the  captain?  It 
won't  do  to  say  that  Finnegan  lost  them." 

"  That  consideration  does  not  influence  me,"  said 
the  chaplain,  with  dignity.  "  Gentlemen,  I  am  a 
novice — in  fact,  I  have  never  tasted  the  poison — but 
I  will  endeavor  to  perform  this  distasteful  task." 

"  Good  for  you,  chaplain !  "  said  the  surgeon,  slap 
ping  him  on  the  back.  "  Go  to  your  room,  quick. 
I'll  send  up  the  booze  from  the  bay,  and  Clarkson 
can  sentence  Finnegan  to  a  bad  half-hour  with  you 
for  spiritual  instruction.  That's  the  game,  Clarkson. 
Prisoner  released  from  the  brig  on  eve  of  action 
wants  spiritual  help.  Now,  I'm  off." 

They  separated,  the  surgeon  going  down  to  the 
sick-bay,  the  first  lieutenant  to  the  bridge,  and  the 
chaplain  to  his  room,  where  he  fell  upon  his  knees  in 
prayer.  In  a  few  minutes  a  knock  at  the  door 
aroused  him,  and  he  admitted  an  apothecary's  clerk, 
who,  when  he  had  deposited  an  opened  quart  bottle, 
some  glasses,  and  a  pitcher  of  water  on  the  table, 
respectfully,  though  rather  facetiously,  asked  him 
for  a  little  of  the  "  Dutch  courage." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Parmlee,  with  a  ghastly 
smile.  "  Help  yourself.  But  you  will  kindly  say 
nothing,  I  hope,  to  others  about  this  service  of 
stimulant.  I — you  see — in  fact,  I  am  in  poor  health, 
and  this  is  my  first  experience  of  war." 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH  65 

"  That's  all  right,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  with  a 
grin,  as  he  helped  himself.  "  Lots  of  it  floatin' 
round  for  every  one  outside  of  our  department,  but 
old  Pills  is  meaner  'n  a  pawnbroker  on  this  ques 
tion." 

He  drank  and  departed,  and  soon  another  knock 
on  the  door  announced  the  arrival  of  the  wondering 
Finnegan,  in  charge  of  the  brig  sentry,  who  smiled 
hugely  as  he  said: 

"  The  first  lieutenant's  compliments,  sir,  and  he 
wants  to  know  would  you  pray  for  Finnegan  'fore  he 
goes  to  his  station,  sir." 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course — most  certainly.  Step  in, 
Finnegan,"  responded  the  chaplain.  "  Step  in  and 
be  seated." 

Finnegan  entered,  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  a 
chair,  and  the  sentry  closed  the  door. 

"  I  didn't  'xpect  to  be  prayed  for,  sir,"  said  Finne 
gan,  with  reproach  in  his  voice.  "  I  swore  off,  all 
right,  an'  I'll  stick  to  it  on  your  account,  sir,  'cause 
you're  a  good  man,  an'  didn't  go  for  to  have  me 
court-martialed;  but  I  can't  pray,  sir — not  a  little 
bit." 

"  No,  no,  certainly  not,  Finnegan,"  answered  the 
chaplain,  drawing  another  chair  up  to  the  table. 
"  This  is  just  a  ruse — a  little  ruse  of  mine  to  make  it 
easier  for  you  to  reform.  You  know — that  is — you 
see,  there  are  different  roads  to  the  same  end,  or, 
rather,  more  than  one  method  of — well,  I  am  afraid 
I  express  myself  poorly.  I  mean — 

"  More'n  one  way  to  skin  a  cat,  sir?  That  what 
you  mean?  " 

"  Well,  possibly.  Your  metaphor,  in  a  measure, 
covers  the  problem  before  us,"  answered  the  chap 
lain,  smiling  painfully  as  he  wiped  the  perspiration 


66  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

from  his  brow.  "  I  mean  that  a  sudden  deprivation 
of  stimulants  to  one  thoroughly  accustomed  to  their 
use  is  apt  to  produce  harmful  effects  on  the  nervous 
system;  and  that,  in  your  case — valuable  man  that 
you  are  to  this  ship — it  is  deemed  by  the  first  lieu 
tenant,  the  surgeon,  and  myself  advisable,  as  we 
will  shortly  engage  the  enemy,  to  provide  you  with  a 
reasonable  quantity  of  the  liquor  to  which  you  lately 
have  been  accustomed." 

"  Some  o'  the  hair  o'  the  dog,  sir.  You  mean  I'm 
to  have  a  drink,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,  Finnegan,  help  yourself." 

"  But,  say,  chaplain,"  said  Finnegan,  his  hand 
pausing  in  mid-passage  toward  the  bottle,  "  I  swore 
off,  you  know — " 

"  Yes,  but  hurry.  You  will  be  needed  at  your 
station  soon." 

"  Well,  if  you  say  it's  all  right,  it  must 
be  all  right,  sir.  But  I'd  feel  better  if  you'd 
take  a  nip,  too,  sir.  I  don't  go  for  to  presume 
you'd  be  drinkin'  with  me,  sir,  but  you  swore  me 
off—" 

"  I  will  drink  with  you.     Help  yourself — hurry !  " 

"  Thank  ye,  sir." 

Finnegan  poured  out  a  share  of  the  stimulant, 
and  so  large  was  it  that  the  chaplain,  judging  by 
the  comparison,  made  his  own  smaller  portion 
slightly  larger  than  an  average  man  cares  to  swal 
low  at  once.  They  drank  together,  without  toast 
or  comment. 

Finnegan  sighed  gratefully  as  he  put  down  the 
glass;  but  Mr.  Parmlee,  with  streaming  eyes  and 
choked  breath,  grasped  the  water-pitcher,  and,  dis 
daining  table  etiquette,  raised  it  to  his  lips  and 
flushed  his  blistered  oesophagus  with  fully  a  pint  of 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH  67 

water.  Then  he  pressed  his  hands  to  his  stomach 
and  glared  wildly  about  the  room. 

"  I  can  see  yer  not  used  to  it,  sir,"  remarked  Finne- 
gan,  in  a  patronizing  tone.  "  Have  yer  chaser  all 
ready  next  time,  sir;  and  p'rhaps  ye'd  better  water 
it  a  little,  till  ye  can  take  it  straight." 

"  Yes,"  gasped  the  chaplain,  "  perhaps  I  had.  As 
you  say,  I  am  not  an  adept — in  fact,  I  drink  very 
little ;  but,  of  course,  this  need  not  influence  you.  It 
is  very  good  liquor,  is  it  not?  From  what  I  know 
about  whisky  I  should  say  that  it  is  very  good — . 
very  good,  indeed.  Shall  we  have  another?  " 

"What,  so  soon,  sir?  Well,  if  you  says  so,  all 
right,  sir." 

Finnegan  filled  his  glass  again,  and  volunteered 
to  adjust  in  Mr.  Parmlee's  the  right  proportions  of 
whisky  and  water;  but  his  judgment  was  certainly 
biased  by  his  own  experience,  to  the  result  that  the 
chaplain  imbibed  a  second  portion  of  the  whisky 
fully  as  large  as  the  other.  Tempered  by  the  water, 
it  went  down  easier,  but,  coupled  with  the  first,  soon 
produced  the  later  effects.  His  face  took  on  an  ex 
pression  of  fierce  gravity,  much  in  contrast  to  the 
amiable  countenance  of  Finnegan.  Ten  minutes 
passed  before  either  spoke;  then  Finnegan,  judging, 
no  doubt,  that  precious  time  was  slipping  by, 
coughed  gently  and  said :  "  Shall  we  hit  it  up  again, 
sir?" 

"  Shertainly,  shertainly,"  answered  Mr.  Parmlee, 
reaching  a  wavering  hand  toward  the  bottle;  but 
Finnegan  had  it  and  was  helping  himself. 

"  Thash  right,  Finnegan — thash  right.  Don't  be 
'fraid.  Very  good  whishky.  '  Hit  up  again.'  Very 
forshfu'  figure  of  speesh.  Whash  th'  other?  Lesh 
shee — whash  th'  other?  "  Mr.  Parmlee  scratched  his 


68  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

head  and  nearly  fell  off  the  chair  from  the  disturb 
ance  of  his  center  of  gravity.  He  clutched  the  table 
and  continued :  "  Lesh  shee — '  hair  on  the  dog  '  ? 
Thash  it.  An'  whash  th'  other?  Shkin  cats?  Thash 
th'  other.  '  Good  way  shkin  cats.'  Very  epi-epigig 
— very  ep-igramash-ical.  Wonder  whash  matter? 
Feel  shea-shick.  Ship  mush  be  pitching.  An'  I 
shee  two  of  you — two  Finnegans.  Thash  funny." 

"  Shall  I  help  you  again,  sir?  "  asked  the  still  in 
tact  Finnegan. 

"  Yesh,  if  you  pleash.  Very  good  whishky.  Not 
'customed  to  it,  but  got  duty  to  p'form — duty  to  my 
country  an'  to  my  bro'r  offisher." 

"  Here  ye  are,  sir." 

The  door  is  not  locked.  Let  us  leave  this  painful 
scene  and  hie  us  to  the  bridge,  where  Mr.  Clarkson 
stands,  with  others,  as  nearly  insane  as  a  man  may 
become  with  an  outward  semblance  of  sanity.  With 
him  are  the  captain,  the  navigating  officer,  and  the 
gunnery  and  torpedo  lieutenants.  Aloft  in  the  fight 
ing-top  an  officer  manipulates  a  range-finder  and 
occasionally  calls  out  results.  The  nearest  ship  of 
the  opposing  fleet  is  but  seven  miles  away,  and  Mr. 
Clarkson  knows  by  inspection  of  his  watch  that 
Finnegan  has  been  closeted  but  twenty  minutes  with 
the  chaplain.  He  has  paced  up  and  down,  shuffled 
his  feet,  wiped  his  face,  and  made  such  inane  and 
sometimes  explosive  comments  on  the  situation  that 
his  manner  and  mood  have  become  apparent  to  all. 
And  the  calm,  grim,  imperturbable  captain,  who  has 
been  observing  him  furtively  for  the  last  five  minutes, 
at  last  speaks. 

"  You  say  that  everything  is  ready  below,  Mr. 
Clarkson?" 


A  HERO  OF  THE  CLOTH  69 

"  Y-y-yes,  sir,"  answered  the  officer,  paling  at  the 
lie  which  might  ruin  him. 

"  You  seem  strangely  upset.  Yet  I  have  seen  you 
under  fire  as  steady  as  a  rock.  Anything  the  mat 
ter?  " 

"A  jumping  toothache,  sir." 

"  Well,  well — a  toothache !  Go  down  at  once  to 
the  surgeon.  No  man  may  work  and  fight  with  a 
jumping  toothache.  Hurry,  though,  for,  by  all  in 
dications,  we  will  commence  firing  within  five  min 
utes." 

Mr.  Clarkson  hurried.  He  rushed  down  the  bridge 
steps,  at  the  risk  of  his  neck;  he  raced  aft  on  the 
main-deck  and  down  to  the  gun-room,  where  he 
hurled  himself  bodily  at  the  chaplain's  door,  hardly 
taking  time  to  turn  the  knob.  It  opened,  and  a 
glance  apprised  the  officer  of  the  situation.  Mr. 
Parmlee  sat  with  his  head  bowed  on  the  table, 
breathing  heavily;  the  bottje  was  three-quarters 
empty,  and  Finnegan,  in  the  act  of  putting  down  his 
glass  as  the  officer  entered,  stood  erect  and  saluted. 
The  room  reeked  with  the  odor  of  whisky,  but 
Finnegan  was  most  certainly  in  a  normal  condition. 

"  Finnegan ! "  yelled  the  lieutenant  in  his  ear. 
"  Where  did  you  put  the  keys — the  keys  you  found 
on  the  superstructure-deck  this  morning — the  keys 
that  Mr.  Parmlee  lost?  " 

"  I  didn't  have  'em,  sir,"  answered  Finnegan.  "  I 
only  wanted  to  tell  the  chaplain  'bout  'em;  but  he 
didn't  seem  to  care,  and  then  you  put  me  under  ar 
rest,  sir." 

"  But  what  about  them  ?    Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  They  went  down  the  ventilator,  sir.  He  put 
'em  on  the  lower  rim,  'longside  the  glasses,  an'  when 
he  picked  up  the  glasses  he  knocked  'em  down." 


70  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"Which  ventilator?" 

"  Last  one  aft  on  the  port  side,  sir." 

Mr.  Clarkson  shot  out  of  the  door.  He  was  gone 
five  minutes — long  enough  for  an  active  man  to  visit 
the  coal  bunkers  and  the  two  magazines  in  the  bowels 
of  the  ship,  and  not  too  long,  perhaps,  for  a  sufferer 
from  toothache  to  obtain  treatment  in  a  crowded 
sick-bay.  He  returned  with  the  face  of  a  happy 
boy  and  assisted  Finnegan  in  lifting  Mr.  Parmlee  to 
his  berth. 

"  I  don't  understand  this  at  all,  sir,"  Finnegan 
ventured  to  remark. 

"  Don't  try,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  seizing  him  by 
the  two  shoulders  and  looking  him  squarely  in  the 
face.  "Don't  try — and,  Finnegan  " —he  gave  the 
old  fellow  a  vigorous  shake — "  say  nothing  about 
this,  and  I'll  see  that  you  have  all  you  need  of — of 
this  stuff,  that  keeps  you  in  good  condition.  Under 
stand? — all  you  need.  But  don't  tell  on  the  chap 
lain!  " 

"  Very  good,  sir — thank  ye.  I  won't  blab  on  him, 
sir.  He's  a  good,  kind  man,  but  any  one  can  see,  sir, 
that  he  can't  stand  much  of  it." 

"  Go  to  your  station,  Finnegan." 

Finnegan  passed  through  the  door,  and  Mr.  Clark- 
son  drank  some  of  the  whisky.  Perhaps  he  needed 
it  more  than  did  Finnegan. 

Through  the  fierce  sea-fight  that  wound  up  that 
day — through  the  thunderous  uproar  of  heavy  guns 
and  the  rattling,  ringing,  and  crashing  of  hostile 
shot  and  shell — the  worthiest  hero  of  that  ship's  com 
pany  slept  the  sleep  of  the  overtaxed  and  exhausted. 
He  had  done  his  utmost  and  had  given  his  all. 

For  the  apothecary's  clerk  betrayed  him. 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        71 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN 

THEY  were  on  the  after  part  of  the  superstruc 
ture-deck — the  loafing-place  of  officers  off  duty 
— and  they  were  discussing  poor  old  Finnegan.  Mr. 
Clarkson,  the  executive,  was  there;  Mr.  Felton,  Mr. 
Parmlee,  the  chaplain;  Dr.  Bryce,  the  surgeon;  and 
the  chief  engineer — a  man  skeptical  of  all  things 
unproved  by  mathematics.  Finnegan  was  down  in 
the  "  brig  " — the  slatted  ship's  prison  on  the  berth- 
deck — sleeping  off  the  effects  of  the  drink  that  had 
undone  him;  and  so  could  take  no  part  in  a  discus 
sion  affecting  himself.  But  he  had  an  able  champion 
in  the  surgeon,  who  had  just  answered  the  chaplain's 
assertion  that  he  was  past  redemption. 

"Not  at  all,"  he  had  said.  "All  he  needs  is 
enough  Dutch  courage,  and  he  is  a  better  man  than 
he  ever  could  have  been  without  it." 

"  But  is  not  that  an  index  of  failure?  "  asked  Mr. 
Parmlee.  "  God  never  created  man  in  his  image  to 
then  depend  upon  whisky." 

"  How  do  you  know?  If  He  made  man,  He  made 
whisky." 

"  He's  right,  Mr.  Parmlee,"  said  Clarkson.  "  Of 
course  he  can  get  drunk  if  he  drinks  enough;  but  it 
takes  an  amount  that  would  kill  an  ordinary  man. 
And  what  would  paralyze  an  ordinary  man — say  a 
quart — is  just  Finnegan's  load.  It  wakes  him  up, 
and  he's  at  his  best." 

"  But  isn't  it  funny,"  ventured  young  Mr.  Felton, 
"  that  it  should  work  so  differently  on  Finnegan  ? 
Even  granting  his  superior  capacity,  at  no  stage 
of  intoxication  is  the  ordinary  man  roused  to  his 
fullest  mental  activity." 


72  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  quickly  rejoined  the  surgeon. 
"  Only  he  doesn't  realize  it.  The  mood  passes  too 
quickly.  In  Finnegan's  case,  seasoned  as  he  is,  he 
can  make  the  most  of  this  stage.  In  fact,  he  falls 
back  upon  his  subconscious  mind.  And  the  subcon 
scious  mind,  gentlemen,  is  almost  supreme  in  its  in 
telligence  and  knowledge." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  subconscious  mind  ?  " 
asked  the  engineer.  "  Is  it  a  real  thing — an  entity 
— or  only  a  figure  of  speech?  " 

"  An  entity — the  primordial  brain ;  the  intelligence 
that  cares  for  drunkards  and  children,  for  sleep 
walkers,  blind  men,  homing  pigeons,  and  exiled  cats. 
It  sees  without  eyes,  hears  without  ears,  and  talks, 
or,  at  least,  communicates  with  other  minds  in  sym 
pathy  with  itself.  We  call  this  telepathy.  It  is 
the  language  of  brute  creation." 

"  And  where  in  the  body  is  this  primordial  brain, 
doctor?  "  asked  Mr.  Felton.  "  In  the  head?  " 

"  Right  where  you  carry  the  brain  of  your  White- 
head  torpedoes,  Mr.  Felton — amidships — distributed 
along  the  spinal-cord  and  in  the  solar  plexus." 

"  I  know  that  a  punch  in  the  solar  plexus  is  often 
fatal." 

"  Exactly — fatal  as  a  bullet  through  the  head. 
When  that  brain  is  disturbed,  if  only  for  a  second  or 
two,  the  heart  stops  beating  for  lack  of  orders  to 
beat.  That  brain  attends  to  all  involuntary  bodily 
functions." 

"  So  Finnegan's  brain  is  in  his  stomach,"  com 
mented  the  engineer.  "  Always  thought  so." 

"  It's  hardly  a  brain,  though,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"  The  brain  is  merely  the  central  station  of  the  five 
senses,  and  what  it  knows  it  receives  through  them. 
This  subconscious  mind,  as  I  said,  is  supreme.  It 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        73 

knows  the  time  without  the  help  of  the  clock.  You've 
often  wakened  at  eight  bells  just  before  the  bell 
strikes,  haven't  you?  It  is  clairvoyant,  telepathic, 
and  absolute  in  memory.  It  remembers  for  life  every 
face  passed  in  a  crowd,  every  word  heard  from  baby 
hood  to  death.  And  the  strange  part  of  all  this  is 
that  in  spite  of  its  wonderful  powers  it  will  believe 
what  is  told  it,  no  matter  how  absurd." 

"  Is  that  why  a  hypnotist  can  make  such  a  fool 
of  a  fellow?  "  asked  Mr.  Felton. 

"  Exactly.  The  subconscious,  or  subjective,  mind 
believes  itself  a  dog,  and  proceeds  to  bark — or  a  cat, 
horse,  scrubwoman,  or  whatever  is  suggested  to  it. 
It  lacks  the  power  of  criticism,  and  is  innocent  of 
suspicion." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  the  executive,  "  that  if 
Finnegan's  subconscious  mind  were  told  that  he  didn't 
like  whisky,  it  would  believe  it?  " 

"  Not  only  would  it  believe,  but  would  act  upon  it, 
and  Finnegan  would  lose  the  taste  for  it." 

"  Then,  insthe  name  of  all  that  is  good,  let  us  try," 
said  the  chaplain,  enthusiastically. 

"  There  are  strong  reasons  why  we  should  not," 
said  the  surgeon.  "  First,  Finnegan  is  already  in  the 
subjective  state  when  drunk,  and  bound  by  auto 
suggestions  in  favor  of  whisky  which  might  over 
come  any  from  an  outside  source  that  would  conflict. 
When  sober  he  is  a  nervous  wreck,  unable  to  be  hyp 
notized,  too  irritable  and  antagonistic,  you  see. 
Second,  he  is  better  off  under  his  present  form  of 
subjectiveness  than  he  ever  could  be  otherwise,  either 
as  a  normal  man  or  a  continuous  hypnotic  subject. 
Third,  it  might  kill  him.  Though  the  spirit  might 
be  willing,  as  Mr.  Parmlee  would  say,  the  flesh  is 
weak,  and  with  his  whole  nervous  system  attuned  to 


74  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

alcohol — every  brain-cell  charged  with  it — he  could 
not  survive  the  change." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  determinedly,  "  you 
could  watch  him,  couldn't  you,  and,  if  things  went 
wrong,  straighten  him  up  with  whisky?  " 

"  Yes,  provided  I  could  make  things  go  wrong.  I 
am  not  a  hypnotist." 

"What  is  a  hypnotist?" 

"  Any  person  who  is  positive,  for  lack  of  a  better 
term,  compared  with  the  subject's  negative.  Any 
person  whom  Finnegan  fears,  loves,  or  respects — 
in  short,  any  one  who  has  a  commanding  influence 
over  him,  can  hypnotize  him  by  the  ordinary 
methods." 

"  I  am  all  that,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson.  "  What  are 
the  methods?" 

"  The  simplest  is  to  induce  the  subject  to  look 
steadily  at  some  bright  object — such  as  a  brass  ball 
or  button,  a  dancing  spot  of  sunlight  reflected  from 
a  mirror,  a  star  in  the  sky,  or  anything  that  will  fix 
the  attention  and  slowly  distract  the  objective  mind 
— the  brain — from  the  world.  Then  that  brain  will 
doze  off,  as  in  sleep,  and  the  subjective  brain  will 
arise  to  the  situation." 

Mr.  Clarkson  stepped  to  the  break  of  the  super 
structure,  then  looked  back  and  said  to  the  surgeon : 
"  He's  been  in  about  four  hours.  Is  that  long  enough 
to  sober  him  up  ?  " 

"  Plenty,  if  he  has  slept." 

"Always  does,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson.  Then  he 
called  down  to  an  orderly  to  direct  the  master-at- 
arms  to  release  Finnegan  from  the  brig  and  bring 
him  up. 

Finnegan  soon  appeared,  in  the  custody  of  the 
master-at-arms,  unkempt  and  unwashed,  his  gray 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        75 

hair  tousled  over  his  wrinkled  face,  his  eyes  blinking 
stupidly  in  the  strong  sunlight.  "  Just  waked  up, 
sir,"  said  the  master-at-arms.  "  Hungry  and  on 
very  bad  terms  with  himself.  His  language  is  very 
disrespectful  to  the  service,  sir." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  executive  officer.  "  We'll 
attend  to  him." 

The  petty  officer  departed ;  Finnegan  looked  sourly 
around  on  his  investigators  and  saluted.  They  re 
turned  the  scrutiny,  and  all  answered  the  salute. 

"  Finnegan,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  sternly,  "  fix 
your  eyes  on  that  gilt  ball  of  the  flagstaff.  Look  at 
it  steadily  and  see  if  you  can  see  anything  wrong 
with  it." 

"  Got  a  twist  in  it,  sir.  The  sheave-holes  don't 
lay  'thwartships.  One's  forrard  and  t'other  aft. 
But  I'm  an  old  man,  sir ;  I  can't  climb  like  I — " 

"  Never  mind.    Look  at  it." 

Finnegan  looked.  "  Wants  a  new  coat,  sir,"  he 
said  at  length. 

"Yes,  we  know  that.  What  else?  Look  steadily 
at  it." 

"Flagstaff  has  a  little  list  to  port,  sir.  It  got 
warped  in  the  gravin'-dock  at  Malta,  when  we  lay 
one  way  so  long." 

"  That's  all  right.    Look  at  it.    Look  hard." 

Finnegan  stared  at  the  ball ;  the  rest  stared  at  him, 
Mr.  Parmlee  with  almost  boyish  eagerness  in  his  face, 
the  engineer  with  grinning  incredulity. 

"  Give  him  a  drink,"  said  the  latter,  as  Finnegan's 
eyes  wandered  from  the  gilt  globe  to  their  faces. 
The  old  fellow's  face  brightened. 

"  Good  idea,"  remarked  the  surgeon.  "  It'll  steady 
him  a  little." 

He   sent  an   order  down  to  the   sick-bay  by   the 


76  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

orderly,  and  soon  a  stiff  allowance — a  full  "  second 
mate's  drink  " — arrived  from  below.  Finnegan  im 
bibed  it  gratefully. 

"  That  reached  his  subconsciousness,  I'll  wager," 
said  the  engineer. 

"  Thanky,  sir,"  said  Finnegan,  wiping  his  mouth 
and  looking  at  the  surgeon.  "  It's  very  good  stuff, 
sir ;  but  if  I  might  make  bold  to  say  so,  sir,  Mr.  Parm- 
lee,  askin*  his  pardon,  has  much  better." 

"  Finnegan ! "  exclaimed  the  agitated  chaplain, 
with  his  face  aflame. 

The  surgeon  and  executive  smiled,  but  the  rest 
roared. 

"  Never  mind  that,  Finnegan,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson. 
"  Look  at  that  ball." 

Again  the  old  man  stared  at  the  ball,  and  again 
his  eyes  wandered.  The  surgeon  beckoned  the  first 
lieutenant  aside.  "  Afraid  it  won't  work,  Clarkson," 
he  said,  softly.  "Try  pure  mesmerism.  Sit  him 
down,  make  him  look  into  your  eyes,  and  pass  your 
hands  downward  before  his  face.  Command  him 
mentally — that  is,  will — that  he  go  to  sleep.  It  is 
possible  that  you  have  projective  force.  There  is 
such  a  thing  distinct  from  the  subjective  power  of 
the  other." 

"  Sit  down  on  that  skylight,"  commanded  Mr. 
Clarkson,  approaching  Finnegan. 

"  All  right,  sir,  if  you  say  so,"  whined  the  old 
man.  "  But  you  want  ter  square  me  wi'  the  master- 
at-arms,  sir.  Last  time  I  sat  down  on  a  skylight 
he—" 

"  Never  mind  the  master-at-arms.     Sit  down !  " 

Finnegan  gingerly  seated  himself,  looking  around 
nervously.  Mr.  Clarkson  faced  him  and  said,  sternly, 
"  Look  me  right  in  the  eyes." 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        77 

Finnegan  did  so.  Mr.  Clarkson  elevated  his  hands 
and  brought  them  down  with  a  sweeping  gesture 
before  the  face  of  the  victim.  The  victim  looked 
curiously  at  him.  Again  the  officer  raised  his  hands 
and  brought  them  down,  while  his  face  assumed  a 
stern,  almost  fierce  expression. 

"  Tell  him  he's  sleepy,"  whispered  the  surgeon  in 
his  ear. 

"  You  are  sleepy,"  said  the  officer.  "  You  are 
very  sleepy.  Go  to  sleep." 

"  I  never  could  sleep  on  deck,  sir,"  protested  the 
old  fellow.  "  Some  men  can  calk  off  the  whole  watch 
in  a  coil  o'  rope,  but  I  have  to  turn  in,  sir." 

Mr.  Clarkson  continued  the  passes.  "  You  are 
sleepy,"  he  repeated.  "  Look  me  right  in  the  eyes 
and  go  to  sleep." 

"  I  ain't  sleepy  a  bit,  sir." 

"  Look  me  in  the  eyes ! "  sternly  commanded  the 
lieutenant.  Finnegan  obeyed  him,  and  the  mesmeric 
passes  continued. 

"  They  do  say,  sir,"  said  Finnegan,  with  a  half- 
confident,  half-deprecating  smile — "  the  fellows  on 
the  fo'castle,  I  mean,  sir — they  say  that  at  times — 
askin'  yer  pardon,  I  say — that  sometimes  yer  not 
quite  yerself,  sir — that  is,  not  quite  right  in  yer  head, 
sir." 

A  roar  of  laughter  went  up,  and  Mr.  Clarkson  de 
sisted. 

"That'll  do,"  he  said,  angrily.  "Go  down  be 
low  !  " 

The  old  man  arose,  saluted,  and  departed. 

"  Did  he  speak  from  his  subconscious  knowledge?  " 
asked  the  engineer.  "What  do  you  think,  doctor? 
Did  Finnegan  diagnose  correctly  ?  " 

"  Not    at    all,"    answered    the    surgeon,    gravely. 


78  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  The  experiment  has  failed  because  of  contrary 
auto-suggestion,  and  because  of  the  presence  of 
skepticism.  An  incredulous  engineer,  whose  soul 
never  rises  above  grate-surface  and  coal  supply,  will 
spoil  any  psychic  investigation.  Clarkson,  does 
Finnegan  ever  take  the  wheel?  " 

"  No,  he's  not  a  quartermaster." 

"  Can  you  stretch  a  point  and  put  him  there  to 
night?  " 

"  Why,  yes;  but  what  for?  " 

"  This :  I've  talked  with  many  sailors  in  my  time, 
and  they  all  agree  that  when  at  the  wheel  on  a  dark 
night  with  no  stars  to  range  by — so  that  they  have 
to  steer  by  compass  alone — they  get  into  a  sleepy, 
half-comatose  condition,  in  which  they  calculate  their 
pay,  dream  of  home,  hear  voices,  talk  to  people  a 
thousand  miles  away,  and,  in  fact,  give  every  evi 
dence  to  me  of  being  in  the  subjective  state.  Yet 
they  steer  a  straight  course.  The  compass,  brightly 
illuminated,  hypnotizes  them.  It  might  hypnotize 
Finnegan.  But  there  must  be  no  engineers  around." 
He  glanced  meaningly  at  the  culprit,  who  left  the 
party  with  a  grin  on  his  face. 

"  Go  ahead  with  your  experiment,"  he  said,  over 
his  shoulder.  "  I  prefer  sleep." 

"  Finnegan's  a  good  helmsman,"  said  Mr.  Clark- 
son.  "  I'll  try  him  in  the  first  watch.  It'll  be  a  dark 
night." 

It  was  more  than  a  dark  night.  There  was  fog; 
and  the  big  steel  battle-ship  charged  through  it  with 
a  dozen  lookouts  posted  about  the  decks  and  up  aloft. 
Mr.  Felton,  officer  of  the  deck  from  eight  to  twelve, 
stood  near  the  bridge  binnacle,  peering  into  the 
blanket  of  darkness  ahead.  On  the  other  side  of  the 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        79 

binnacle  stood  his  assistant,  a  sublieutenant,  whose 
chief  business  on  watch  was  to  look  at  the  compass 
and  say  nothing.  Though  not  a  watch  officer,  Mr. 
Clarkson  was  on  the  bridge,  as  were  the  surgeon  and 
chaplain;  and  Finnegan  was  alone  in  the  pilot-house 
— where  he  had  gone  grumblingly — while  the  rightful 
incumbent  of  the  trick,  a  quartermaster,  kept  watch 
beside  the  door  on  the  bridge  with  orders  to  "  stand 
by  "  to  relieve  Finnegan  at  a  second's  notice. 

"  How  long,  doctor,"  asked  the  executive  officer, 
as  the  four  stood  at  the  bridge  rail,  where  Finnegan's 
face  was  easily  visible  through  an  opened  window, 
"  before  he  will  be  in  condition  ?  " 

"  Can't  tell.  Perhaps  he  won't  be.  But  the  ex 
periment  is  worth  trying.  Mr.  Parmlee  is  the  man 
to  work  it.  He  has  a  soft,  persuasive  voice,  and 
Finnegan  wouldn't  be  too  startled.  You  or  I,  Clark- 
son,  would  frighten  him." 

"  What  must  I  do?  "  asked  the  chaplain. 

"  Oh,  after  a  while,  when  he  has  dimmed  his  eyes 
and  brain  by  looking  at  the  compass,  sneak  in  and 
talk  gently  to  him.  Simply  tell  him  that  he  doesn't 
like  whisky — that  he  only  thinks  so,  but  is  mistaken. 
Don't  be  too  sudden;  stand  beside  him  for  a  while 
without  speaking.  Stand  for  half  an  hour,  to  throw 
him  off  his  guard.  Lecture  him  mildly  but  in 
sistently." 

"  And  you  think,"  said  the  executive,  "  that  such 
talk  will  pass  the  scrutiny  of  his  brain  and  reach  his 
subconsciousness?  " 

"  Yes,  provided  that  brain  is  off  its  guard.  You 
must  know  that  the  only  time  that  oral  suggestion 
is  possible  is  when  one  brain  is  going  off  duty  and 
the  other  coming  on.  At  this  time  they  are  in  com 
munication,  and  a  statement  delivered  to  one  will  be 


80  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

understood  by  the  other.     Auto-suggestion,  too,  is 
only  available  at  this  stage." 

"  What  is  auto-suggestion?  "  asked  Mr.  Felton. 

"  A  suggestion  made  to  yourself.  You  know  that 
if  you  go  to  sleep  humming  a  tune,  you  will  wake 
up  humming  it  in  the  morning." 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  young  lieutenant.  "  And  if 
I  go  to  sleep  desiring  to  waken  at  three,  four,  or  five 
o'clock,  I  will  invariably  do  so  to  the  minute.  Is 
it  the  same  faculty?  " 

"  The  same.  Any  man  can  do  it.  And  if  Finne- 
gan  could  determinedly  say  to  himself  just  before 
going  to  sleep  that  he  didn't  like  and  didn't  need 
whisky,  he  would  wake  in  the  morning  with  the 
thought — carried  through  the  night  by  the  subcon 
scious  mind — and  be  benefited  while  he  slept  by  the 
reformatory  work  on  the  cells  of  the  brain  and 
nervous  system  of  that  believing  subconsciousness." 

"  Then,  why  can't  he  be  instructed  and  do  it  him 
self?  "  asked  Mr.  Clarkson. 

"  Because  such  an  effort  would  require  more  will 
power  than  Finnegan  possesses.  With  will  power 
to  suggest  it  to  himself  he  would  not  need  his  sub 
conscious  help.  He  would  simply  quit.  But  Fin 
negan  needs  outside  suggestion." 

"  Has  this  suggestion  anything  to  do  with  mesmer 
ism?  "  asked  the  chaplain. 

"  Yes  and  no.  A  mesmerist  is  always  a  hypnotist, 
but  a  hypnotist  need  not  be  a  mesmerist.  Mesmer 
ism  is  still  a  mystery.  A  mesmerist  is  one  possessing 
strong  projective  power,  who  exercises  this  power 
mainly  by  making  passes  before  the  face  of  the  sub 
ject.  It  is  as  though  a  subtle  emanation  of  some 
force  left  his  finger-tips  and  affected  the  subject. 
A  hypnotist  is  one  who  takes  advantage  of  the  vol- 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        81 

untary  surrender  of  the  subject,  and  suggests,  either 
by  voice  or  strong  mental  effort.  This  last  is  the 
*  absent  treatment '  of  Christian  Science." 

"  Then  there  really  is  something  in  that,"  said  Mr. 
Parmlee. 

"  Science,  but  no  Christianity,"  answered  the  sur 
geon.  "  Absent  treatment  is  merely  telepathy — a 
suggestion  delivered  by  the  operator  to  his  own  inner 
self,  which  sends  it  during  sleep  to  the  inner  self  of 
the  patient." 

"  Wouldn't  that  work  on  Finnegan  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Clarkson. 

"  Certainly,  if  you've  the  time  and  patience  to 
keep  it  up,  night  after  night.  Have  you?  I 
haven't." 

"  I  have,"  said  the  chaplain,  eagerly. 

"But,  Mr.  Parmlee,"  said  the  surgeon,  gently, 
"  the  job  is  too  big  for  one  to  tackle  alone.  If  you 
were  a  mesmerist,  or  even  a  strong,  masterful  char 
acter  of  a  man,  you  might  succeed,  with  everything 
favorable,  in  about  five  years.  As  it  is,  the  whole 
Christian  Science  Church  couldn't  touch  Finnegan 
without  hypnotizing  him;  and  that  is  what  we're 
trying  to  do  to-night." 

"How  does  he  look?"  asked  the  executive,  peer 
ing  in  at  the  old  man.  "  Is  he  getting  there?  " 

Finnegan  was  standing  motionless  beside  the  small 
wheel  which,  as  a  mere  lever,  admitted  steam  to  the 
steering-engine  below.  Now  and  then  he  twirled  it 
back  and  forth,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  compass 
in  the  binnacle.  The  group  slowly  sidled  up  to  the 
pilot-house,  and  one — Mr.  Clarkson — took  a  hur 
ried  look  into  the  bridge  binnacle.  "  Dead  on  the 
course,"  he  whispered  as  he  joined  them.  As  they 
listened  and  looked  they  heard  Finnegan  crooning 


82  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

softly  to  himself,  and  suddenly  the  crooning  became 
articulate : 


In  the  hallway — all  day — 

Mary  Ann,  me  darter. 
She  goes  to  slape  in  the  childer's  cot — 

Mary  Ann  Kehoe— Kehoe-o-o-o-oe— KEHO-O-O-O-O-OE! 


"  No  go,"  said  the  surgeon,  stifling  his  laughter. 
"  Come  away  and  give  him  a  chance.  He's  doing 
well." 

They  mustered  again  at  the  bridge-rail.  An  hour 
had  hardly  gone  by,  and  there  was  still  plenty  of  time 
for  the  experiment,  provided  that  Finnegan  would 
do  his  part.  He  was  doing  his  work  well;  silent 
now,  he  stared  steadily  at  the  compass  and  steered 
so  straight  that  the  sublieutenant  was  impressed  to 
the  extent  of  speaking  of  it  to  Mr.  Felton.  But  Mr. 
Felton  did  not  respond  with  any  great  enthusiasm. 
He  was  officer  of  the  deck;  and  when  one  is  officer 
of  the  deck  on  a  ten-thousand-ton  battle-ship  rush 
ing  through  thick  fog  at  eighteen  knots  there  are 
things  of  more  moment  than  the  mere  matter  of  a 
straight  course.  He  had  strained  his  eyes  until  the 
fog  was  yet  mistier,  and  strained  his  ears  for  sounds 
of  whistles  and  horns  until  to  him  the  deep-toned 
hum  of  the  engines  was  hardly  audible.  He  had  sent 
repeated  injunctions  to  the  lookouts  to  listen  care 
fully — to  report  anything  that  sounded  like  fisher 
men's  horns  or  steamers'  whistles,  and  had  sternly 
enjoined  upon  the  bridge  quartermaster  to  heave  on 
the  whistle  rope  at  intervals  of  two  minutes.  But 
he  had  not  slowed  down;  a  collision  is  just  as  pos 
sible  at  half-speed  as  at  full  speed,  and  in  spite  of 
sentiment  and  law  there  are  officers  and  captains  who 
prefer  to  be  on  the  ship  that  strikes  the  blow  to 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        83 

being  on  the  ship  that  receives  it.  Both  the  captain 
and  Mr.  Felton  so  preferred,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  nothing  afloat  but  icebergs  and  battle-ships  as 
heavy  as  this  big  ship  could  safely  oppose  her.  There 
is  logic  in  the  theory.  A  ten-thousand-ton  battle 
ship,  with  a  ram  like  a  meat-axe,  will  cut  through 
a  steamship  at  half-speed  as  a  knife  cuts  through 
cheese,  and  a  fishing-craft  caught  on  her  bows  would 
be  lifted  and  thrown  aside  in  two  pieces.  Yet,  should 
either  be  the  assailant,  the  result  might  be  as  dis 
astrous.  So  the  Argyll  charged  over  the  Georges 
Banks  on  her  way  to  Halifax  at  full  speed,  with 
Finnegan  steering  straight  and  Mr.  Felton  and  his 
lookouts  anxious  only  for  the  safety  of  others.  But 
the  three  idlers  on  the  bridge,  with  fair  confidence  in 
Mr.  Felton,  were  only  anxious  over  Finnegan. 

"  You  must  enlighten  me,  surgeon,"  said  Mr. 
Parmlee,  "  a  little  further — as  to  what  I  am  to  do." 

"  Nothing,"  answered  the  surgeon,  "  for  half  an 
hour;  then  speak  in  a  whisper.  If  he  answers,  wait 
longer,  and  try  again.  When  he  don't  respond, 
begin  your  gentle  lecture ;  but  don't  arouse  him." 

"I  think  I  understand.  Well,  I  will  try.  But 
tell  me — would  not  this  be  the  soul  that  I  appeal  to 
— Finnegan's  immortal  soul?  " 

"  Some  think  so — some  don't.  I  can't  tell  you. 
It  is  denied  by  those  who  call  the  ego  the  soul,  for 
the  ego  is  pure  consciousness,  and  consciousness  de 
pends  entirely  upon  the  evidence  of  the  senses." 

"  Altogether?     Oh,  no,  doctor." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Parmlee.  Just  consider,  now.  Try 
and  imagine  yourself  stone  blind  from  birth — you 
never  felt  the  sensation  of  light;  stone  deaf — you 
never  heard  a  sound  in  your  life ;  your  sense  of  taste 
and  smell  entirely  dead;  also,  your  sensory  nerves 


84  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

dead — so  that  you  never  felt  anything  that  touched 
you — never  felt  heat  and  cold.  You  wouldn't  know 
much,  would  you?  " 

"  No,  not  a  great  deal." 

"  You  would  know  nothing.  You  would  not  be 
conscious  that  you  were  alive.  There  would  be  no 
ego.  But,  unless  you  died  from  lack  of  exercise, 
you  could  live  and  grow  fat  provided  that  food  was 
placed  in  your  stomach;  and  if  the  motor  nerves 
were  not  also  dead  you  could  move  about  under  the 
care  of  the  subjective  mind.  This  mind  is  the  sixth 
sense  so  often  spoken  of — that  possessed  by  the 
totally  deaf  and  blind,  who  feel  the  presence  of  solid 
objects  and  feel  the  impact  of  sound." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  "  we've  all  heard  of 
almost  miraculous  divination  by  these  stricken  peo 
ple.  Blind  men  really  do  find  their  way  around." 

"  And  cats  come  back — carrier-pigeons,  too,  and 
migrating  birds.  They  travel  for  miles  and  days 
over  country  never  cognized  by  any  of  the  five  senses, 
but — better  sneak  in  now,  Mr.  Parmlee.  Don't  speak 
for  half  an  hour." 

The  chaplain  entered  the  pilot-house,  where,  in 
the  dim  light  from  the  binnacle,  the  watchers  saw 
him  take  a  position  on  the  other  side  of  the  small 
steering-wheel.  Finnegan  made  no  sign  of  recog 
nition,  and  those  without  conversed  awhile,  then  re 
lapsed  into  silence.  The  minutes  passed ;  the  sub 
lieutenant  performed  his  duty  of  occasionally  peep 
ing  at  the  bridge  compass ;  Mr.  Felton  stood  braced 
against  the  bridge-rail  more  statue-like  than  Finne 
gan.  At  each  end  of  the  long  bridge  was  a  lookout, 
as  intent  and  immovable  as  the  officer.  The  fog  grew 
thicker,  and  the  rumble  of  the  engines  seemed  louder 
in  consequence,  while  the  two-minute  blasts  of  the 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        85 

whistle  burst  through  the  clogged  air  like  thunder 
claps. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Parmlee  shot  out  of  the  pilot-house 
and  joined  his  coreformers.  He  was  palpably 
agitated. 

"  I  cannot  perform  my  part,"  he  said,  brokenly. 
"  I  waited,  as  you  directed,  and  then  whispered  his 
name.  And  what  do  you  think?  He  answered,  in 
a  whisper :  '  Hush,  sir !  Don't  talk  to  the  man  at  the 
wheel.  I  know  what  ye  want,  sir.  Here  y'  are. 
Take  a  nip,  sir.  You  were  good  to  me  once,  Mr. 
Parmlee.'  And  he  handed  me  a  bottle.  Here  it  is — 
almost  empty.  And  there  is  whisky  on  his  breath." 

The  surgeon  chortled.  "  Well,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  toss  it  overboard,  chaplain."  Over  went  the  bottle. 
"  He's  in  good  condition  for  good  steering,  so — best 
let  him  finish  his  trick.  But  he  can't  be  hypnotized 
otherwise  to-night.  I'm  going  down." 

He  disappeared,  followed  by  the  chaplain;  but 
the  executive  officer  remained  on  the  bridge,  ab 
sorbed  in  meditation  of  a  more  or  less  gloomy  nature. 
He  occasionally  looked  at  the  compass,  only  to  find 
no  fault  in  the  steering;  but  this  did  not  absolve 
Finnegan,  for  when  four  bells  struck,  and  the  bridge 
quartermaster  moved  toward  the  pilot-house,  the  of 
ficer  stopped  him. 

"  For  bringing  whisky  to  the  wheel,"  he  said, 
sternly,  through  the  opened  window,  "  you  shall  steer 
two  hours  more." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  whined  the  old  fellow,  submis 
sively. 

Mr.  Clarkson  resumed  his  position  at  the  bridge- 
rail.  The  captain,  with  full  confidence  in  his  officers, 
was  asleep;  but  his  confidence  was  embodied  solely 
in  his  executive  officer,  whose  confidence  in  Finnegan's 


86  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

helmsmanship  was  not  equaled  by  his  confidence  in 
Mr.  Felton,  who,  though  officer  of  the  deck  and  a 
competent  man,  was  young — very  young  to  have 
charge  on  such  a  night.  So  Mr.  Clarkson  remained 
ex-offitio  in  charge. 

Five  bells  struck,  then  six  and  seven ;  and  the  last 
half-hour  of  the  watch  was  drawing  to  an  end  when 
the  sublieutenant  peeped  into  the  binnacle  and 
startled  them  all  with  a  yell. 

"  She's  four  points  off  her  course !  "  he  said,  ex 
citedly.  "  Starboard  ! — starboard  hard !  What's  the 
matter  with  you?  Are  you  asleep?  " 

Mr.  Clarkson  had  been  looking  at  Finnegan 
through  the  window  a  moment  before.  The  old  man 
had  not  changed  his  attitude.  He  still  looked  fix 
edly  at  the  compass  with  eyes  that  were  wide  open, 
yet  dead  in  the  dimmed  light.  But  now,  as  the  sub 
lieutenant's  voice  broke  the  silence,  and  the  first  lieu 
tenant  looked  again,  he  saw  Finnegan's  face  working 
convulsively,  though  his  pose  was  as  rigid  as  before 
and  his  eyes  still  dead  in  the  dim  light  from  the 
binnacle. 

"Finnegan!"  he  shouted.  "Wake  up!  Star 
board  your  wheel  and  bring  her  back  to  the  course! 
Jump  in  there,  quartermaster,  and  take  the  wheel !  " 

"  Yessir !  yessir !  "  answered  Finnegan,  in  the  ner 
vous  tones  of  one  suddenly  awakened.  Then  the 
convulsions  left  his  face  and  an  anxious  look  came  to 
it  while  he  ground  the  wheel  over.  Then  the  quarter 
master  hurled  him  headlong  against  the  door  of  the 
pilot-house  and  seized  the  spokes.  "  Coming  back, 
sir ! "  he  called,  after  a  moment's  scrutiny  of  the 
compass. 

"  Bring  her  back  to  the  course !  "  said  Mr.  Clark- 
son,  as  he  hovered  over  the  bridge  compass.  But  at 


THE  SUBCONSCIOUS  FINNEGAN        87 

the  instant  an  uproar  of  shouts  sounded  from  the 
various  lookouts. 

"  Ship  dead  ahead,  sir  1 "  they  called.  "  Port,  sir ! 
— she's  crossing  our  bow  to  port ! — hard  over,  sir ! — 
right  under  the  bow,  sir! — a  steamship  dead  ahead, 
sir ! — port  the  wheel,  sir — for  God's  sake !  " 

Mr.  Clarkson  took  one  look  into  the  darkness  and 
fog,  then  almost  screamed  the  order  to  the  quarter 
master  :  "  Steady  as  you  go  !  Port ! — hard  a  port ! 
Hard  over  the  wheel !  "  Then  he  jammed  the  engine- 
room  telegraph  to  "  Stop."  The  quartermaster 
spun  the  wheel,  the  rudder  responded,  and  the  ten 
thousand  tons  of  steel  shot  past  the  stern  of  an 
equally  large  but  flimsier  ocean  greyhound,  from 
whose  multitude  of  windows  and  deadlights  shone  the 
light  of  a  thousand  electric  bulbs — from  whose  decks, 
even  as  she  sank  into  the  fog,  came  the  shouts  of 
startled  men  and  the  screams  of  women  and  children. 

Mr.  Clarkson  moved  the  telegraph  to  "  Full  speed  ; 
ahead,"  and  again  directed  the  quartermaster  to  re 
turn  to  the  course ;  then  he  called  Finnegan  from  the 
pilot-house.  The  old  fellow  came  out,  in  the  attitude 
of  a  dog  about  to  be  whipped,  and  stood  cowering 
before  the  mighty  first  lieutenant. 

"You  were  asleep,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  sternly. 
"You  went  to  sleep  at  the  wheel.  What  have  you 
to  say?" 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Finnegan.  "  No,  sir.  I 
swear  before  God,  Mr.  Clarkson,  I  wasn't  asleep.  I 
knew  she  was  swingin'  off;  I  saw  the  lubber's-point 
a-movin'  over  to  sta'board,  but  I  couldn't  move  my 
hands,  sir.  So  help  me  God,  sir,  I  couldn't  move  my 
hands.  I  was  a  dead  man.  I  knew,  but  I  couldn't 
move.  I'm  an  old  man,  sir — I'm  not  the  man  I  was. 


88  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

And  you  kept  me  four  hours  at  the  wheel,  Mr.  Clark- 
son,  doing  work  that  I  don't  get  pay  for.  I'm  not 
rated  quartermaster,  sir." 

Mr.  Felton  was  scanning  the  bridge  compass,  and 
apparently  took  no  further  interest  in  the  case;  but 
the  sublieutenant,  still  younger,  was  much  excited. 

"  There  were  fully  two  thousand  human  lives  at 
stake,"  he  said,  excitedly.  "  And  this  man  goes  to 
sleep  at  the  wheel.  Oh,  my  God,  what  an  escape. 
Hundreds  would  have  been  drowned." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Clarkson.  "  If  we  had  con 
tinued  on  our  course,  we  would  have  rammed  that 
steamship  squarely  amidships.  And  Finnegan  goes 
to  sleep  at  the  wheel.  Finnegan" — and  the  officer's 
tone  was  very  gentle,  considering  the  enormity  of  his 
offense — "  go  down,  ask  the  main-deck  corporal  to 
awaken  the  surgeon  and  send  him  to  my  room.  Then 
turn  in." 

"  Very  good,  sir — thanky,  sir."  said  Finnegan. 
"  And  I  won't  do  it  again,  sir — indeed,  I  won't.  But 
I'm  an  old  man,  sir." 

"  Go  down,  Finnegan." 

Finnegan  saluted  and  departed. 

An  hour  later,  at  the  end  of  a  long  conversation 
between  the  surgeon  and  first  lieutenant,  the  former 
said :  "  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind,  Clarkson,  that 
Finnegan  put  himself  into  the  subjective  state,  and 
that  his  subconscious  self  took  charge  of  him — that 
is,  his  subconscious  mind  had  clairvoyant  knowledge 
of  the  position  of  that  steamship,  out  of  sight  in  the 
fog,  and  simply  prevented  his  muscles  from  acting 
until  you  commanded  him  to  '  wake  up.'  That  com 
mand  wakened  him,  and  the  ignorant  and  very  much 
limited  objective  brain  took  charge,  and  he  moved 


THE  TORPEDO  89 

the  wheel.  The  sublieutenant's  language,  though  in 
telligible  enough  to  a  wakened  brain,  meant  nothing 
to  the  subconscious.  Your  command  to  '  wake  up  ' 
did  the  business.  It  was  a  suggestion." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  "  admitting  this,  what 
put  him  into  this  subjective  and  clairvoyant  state? 
Was  it  whisky  or  long  gazing  at  the  compass  ?  " 

The  surgeon  reached  for  a  cigar,  lit  it,  and  puffed 
vigorously  before  replying. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  said.  "  Neither,  I  believe, 
does  any  man  on  earth.  The  captain,  as  you  know, 
says  that  there  is  the  index  of  an  inscrutable  Provi 
dence  in  all  of  Finnegan's  actions.  Let  it  go  at  that. 
I  shall  experiment  no  further  with  Finnegan." 

"  And  I  shall  see  that  he  never  lacks  for  his  in 
spiration,"  said  the  executive,  abandonedly  but 
firmly. 

"  As  a  medical  man  and  a  student  of  science,"  said 
the  surgeon,  "  I  ratify  that.  But  we  can  expect  no 
approval  from  Mr.  Parmlee." 

"  No,"  said  the  executive,  gloomily,  "  nor  any  help, 
of  action  or  advice,  with  a  big  steamship  under  the 
bow." 


THE  TORPEDO 

MR.  RYERSON  was  not  concerned  with  inter 
national  etiquette;  it  was  not  his  business 
that  his  captain's  action  in  sending  him  with  a  de 
tail  of  men  on  board  this  Japanese  torpedo-boat  at 
three  in  the  morning  might  involve  England  in  the 
war,  should  Russia  find  it  out.  Russia  might  go 
hang — Japan,  too,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned;  he 
would  instruct  a  Russian  as  quickly  as  he  would  a 


90  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

Jap,  or  torpedo  the  ship  of  either  without  asking 
why,  provided  he  was  so  ordered.  Nor  was  it  the 
nature  of  the  work  that  had  got  upon  his  nerves  this 
dark  night.  It  was  cold,  of  course — even  for  the 
month  and  latitude — and  there  was  snow  in  the  air, 
with  a  keen,  penetrating  wind  from  seaward  that 
reached  in  through  pilot-cloth  and  flannel;  while 
the  suspected  proximity  of  Russian  warships  made 
it  wisest,  even  as  subjects  of  a  neutral  country,  to 
work  without  lights.  And  the  Japanese  he  had  come 
to  instruct — only  the  commander  of  whom  under 
stood  English — seemed  to  be  as  stupid  as  they  were 
eager  to  learn.  These  things  of  themselves  could 
not  disturb  the  trained  and  experienced  torpedo 
lieutenant  of  H.M.S.  Argyll;  though  it  was  because 
he  was  a  trained  and  experienced  officer,  with  a 
proper  pride  in  his  country,  his  ship,  and  himself, 
that  he  was  disturbed.  Finnegan — Old  Man  Finne- 
gan — the  only  one  of  the  whole  ship's  company 
privileged  to  drink  with  impunity,  the  most  skilled 
and  efficient  seaman  of  them  all  when  properly 
primed,  the  butt  of  all  hands  when  thoroughly  drunk, 
or  thoroughly  sober,  had,  as  the  work  progressed, 
shown  signs  of  elation  and  enthusiasm,  due  to  noth 
ing  but  unwise  over-stimulation;  and  this,  to  the 
scandal  of  the  British  service,  before  the  eyes  of  these 
critical,  though  untutored,  Japanese,  who  knew  noth 
ing  of  Finnegan's  peculiar  privilege.  While  they 
were  at  work  on  the  forward  torpedo-tube,  Mr. 
Ryerson  had  driven  the  old  fellow  away  with  unkind 
and  indelicate  comment  on  his  condition,  and  it  was 
a  little  later  that  the  Japanese  lieutenant  in  charge 
of  the  boat  informed  Mr.  Ryerson  that  Finnegan  had 
sneaked  aft  in  the  darkness  and  taken  a  long  swig 
from  a  large,  flat  bottle.  So,  when  the  Whitehead 


THE  TORPEDO  91 

torpedo  had  been  driven  home  in  the  tube,  the  breech 
charged,  primed,  and  closed,  the  tube  swung  around 
a  few  times,  and  the  discharging  mechanism  ex 
plained  to  the  Japs,  Mr.  Ryerson  hunted  for  Finne- 
gan,  and  found  him  "  soldiering  "  under  the  lee  of 
the  after  funnel. 

"  Where's  that  bottle?  "  demanded  the  irate  officer. 

"  Got  no  bottle,  shir,"  answered  Finnegan,  salut 
ing  unsteadily. 

"  Don't  lie.  You  were  seen.  Where's  that  bot 
tle?  " 

"  Washn't  much,  Misher  Ryerson,  and  I  put  it 
away,  shir." 

"  I  should  think  you  had  put  it  away,"  coughed 
the  officer,  backing  off.  "  Heavens,  what  a  breath ! 
Keep  to  leeward  of  everybody.  Go  and  hide  your 
self,  Finnegan,  and  when  we  go  back  I'll  report  you 
for  getting  drunk  before  the  heathen.  Come  aft 
here,  men !  "  he  called.  "  We'll  try  this  other  tube. 
Pick  up  a  Whitehead  on  the  way." 

Whitehead  torpedoes,  be  it  known,  are  mechanical 
fish  about  sixteen  feet  long,  carrying  two  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds  of  gun-cotton  in  their  heads, 
which  travel  under  water  of  their  own  volition  to 
explode  upon  impact,  but  which  are  aimed  and  merely 
propelled  from  long,  eighteen-inch  tubes  by  the  ex 
plosion  of  a  small  charge  of  powder  which,  com 
pressing  the  air  behind  the  torpedo,  exerts  a  pressure 
just  sufficient  to  overcome  its  inertia.  The  small 
Japanese  craft,  a  recent  acquisition  from  America, 
was  equipped  with  a  bow  and  a  stern  tube  and  four 
torpedoes,  one  of  them  already  placed  in  the  forward 
tube,  the  others  stowed  in  brackets  about  the 
deck.  As  her  commander  had  explained,  it  was 
his  hurriedly  drafted  crew's  inexperience  that 


92  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

had  induced  him  to  steer  up  in  the  face  of  the 
Argyll's  search-light  and  ask  instructions  of  the 
English. 

Torpedo  methods  having  been  explained  at  the 
forward  tube,  there  was  little  to  do  on  the  other  ex 
cept  to  load,  charge,  and  close  it.  So,  while  his  men, 
followed  by  the  eager  Japanese,  came  aft  with  a 
torpedo,  Mr.  Ryerson  opened  the  breech,  and  when 
they  were  ready  he  said :  "  In  with  it  now,  and  let's 
get  through.  Finnegan,  clear  out!  Go  and  hide 
yourself,  I  said." 

Finnegan,  who  had  untactfully  stumbled  in  front 
of  the  blunt  nose  of  the  torpedo,  held  poised  in  air 
behind  the  tube,  was  pushed  aside  just  as  he  was 
about  to  peep  into  the  long,  hollow  cylinder,  an  in 
spection  well  performed  by  the  lieutenant  a  moment 
before. 

"  I  think  that  everything  is  all  right,  Finnegan," 
said  Mr.  Ryerson,  ironically,  bowing  politely  to  the 
old  man  in  the  darkness.  "  Now  go  and  hide  your 
self." 

"  Hide  m'shelf ,"  repeated  Finnegan,  softly  and 
stupidly.  "  Very  good,  shir — hide  m'shelf — m'shelf. 
Hide  m'shelf." 

He  disappeared  behind  the  group,  and  the  torpedo 
was  inserted  in  the  tube.  But  it  stuck  when  about 
half-way  in,  and  all  the  strength  of  the  men  could 
not  push  it  farther. 

"Out  with  it,"  ordered  the  officer.  "Let's  see 
what's  wrong.  Put  it  back  in  its  chocks  or  it'll 
take  you  overboard." 

It  was  a  wise  order;  the  boat  was  rolling  heavily, 
and  the  men,  weighted  by  the  torpedo,  were  unsteady 
on  their  legs.  Mr.  Ryerson  struck  a  match  within 
the  tube,  but  as  far  as  the  glow  reached  saw  nothing 


THE  TORPEDO  93 

but  shining  steel.  "  All  clear  here,"  he  said.  "  Some 
thing  wrong  with  the  Whitehead." 

He  went  to  the  torpedo  and  felt  all  over  it  with  his 
hands.  "  No  wonder,"  he  said,  as  he  fingered  the 
clutch,  or  T-iron  on  top,  which,  fitting  into  a  traveler 
within  the  tube,  held  the  weight  of  the  torpedo  while 
being  ejected.  "It's  bent;  but,  still,  not  too  much, 
I  should  think.  Try  it  again,  men,  and  I'll  see  if  it 
enters  the  traveler." 

The  men  stooped  for  the  torpedo,  but  did  not  pick 
it  up.  There  was  a  bumping  noise  alongside,  a  few 
muttered  but  intense  expletives  in  Russian,  and  an 
uprush  of  large,  active  men  who  fell  upon  the  Eng 
lishmen  and  Japanese  alike  with  cutlass  and  pistol. 

"  Into  the  boat,  our  side,"  yelled  Mr.  Ryerson. 
"  This  isn't  our  fight.  Away  with  you  all." 

And  away  they  went,  bowling  over  with  fist  or 
shoulder  a  few  Russians  in  their  path,  to  enter  their 
boat  in  a  manner  not  prescribed  in  the  regulations 
— by  flying  leaps.  Mr.  Ryerson,  however,  was  mind 
ful  of  naval  etiquette  to  the  extent  of  being  the  last 
to  leave,  waiting  at  the  rail  with  drawn  pistol — the 
only  arm  in  the  party — while  his  men  rushed  by  him. 

"All  down?"  he  called,  when  the  hegira  had 
ceased. 

"  All  here,  sir,"  they  answered  from  the  boat. 

Then  he  jumped,  first  discharging  his  pistol  into 
the  face  of  an  oncoming  Russian  with  a  cutlass. 

In  the  white  glare  of  the  Argyll's  search-light,  un 
wisely  turned  upon  them  by  the  watchful  battle-ship, 
and  to  the  sound  of  Russian  oaths  and  Japanese  out 
cries,  the  Englishmen  pulled  on  the  oars,  ducking 
their  heads  to  dodge  the  fusillade  of  bullets  with 
which  the  Russians  answered  Mr.  Ryerson's  shot. 
But  soon  the  search-light  lifted  and  covered  the  tor- 


94  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

pedo-boat,  by  which  time  the  oaths  and  outcries  were 
silenced;  then  they  could  see  the  boat,  with  empty 
hawse-pipe,  drifting  astern  with  the  tide,  while  limp 
forms  dropped  from  her  rail. 

"Hell!"  shuddered  the  lieutenant.  "Capture 
and  massacre!  They've  got  the  boat,  but  I  wonder 
if  they  can  fix  that  torpedo.  I'd  like  to  have  fin 
ished  the  job." 

A  trained  and  efficient  torpedo  lieutenant  must 
have  a  mechanical  soul;  hence  the  remark.  But, 
from  association  of  ideas,  the  remark  was  followed 
by  another,  much  louder. 

"Is  Finnegan  here?"  he  called. 

"  Finnegan — Finnegan,"  the  men  replied.  "  Pass 
the  word.  No,  sir.  Not  here.  Finnegan's  gone, 
sir." 

A  groan  went  up  from  them,  and  there  was  a  per 
ceptible  lessening  of  vigor  in  their  strokes,  as  though 
they  waited  for  the  order  to  turn  back,  unarmed 
though  they  were,  to  rescue  the  beloved  old  repro 
bate.  It  would  have  been  hopeless,  even  with  arms ; 
the  torpedo-boat,  still  illumined  by  the  search-light, 
was  now  emitting  black  smoke  from  all  three  funnels, 
and  was  plainly  under  steam. 

"  Give  way,  men ! "  ordered  the  lieutenant,  ex 
citedly.  "  Nothing  but  the  ship  herself  can  stop  her 
now." 

But  the  ship  did  not,  even,  though  they  found  the 
crew  at  quarters  when  they  boarded  her.  And  when 
Mr.  Ryerson  had  made  his  report  to  his  superiors, 
mournfully  mentioning  the  loss  of  Finnegan  before 
he  spoke  of  his  unfinished  job  on  the  tube,  the 
grave-faced  captain  seemed  little  concerned  with 
either. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  fired  your  pistol,  Mr.  Ryerson," 


THE  TORPEDO  95 

he  said,  "  even  in  self-defense,  with  the  situation  so 
strained." 

"  Do  you  think  complications  may  arise,  sir?  " 
asked  the  young  officer,  anxiously. 

"  Who  knows  ?  I  trusted  to  your  discretion,  or — 
but  let  it  go.  We  may  hear  by  wireless  at  any  mo 
ment  that  war  has  been  declared,  and  then  it  will 
not  matter.  Still,  in  the  absence  of  such  news,  I 
should  rather  that  the  Russians  had  struck  first." 

"  They  attacked  the  boat,  captain.  They've  got 
one  of  our  men." 

"  Some  diplomats  might  argue  that  we  had  no 
business  there,"  responded  the  captain,  quickly,  but 
with  a  smile.  "  However,  we'll  hope  for  the  news." 

"  And  Finnegan,  captain?  "  inquired  Mr.  Clarkson, 
the  executive  officer.  "  Shall  I  send  a  shot  after 
that  boat,  or  shall  we  trust  to  Finnegan's  luck?  " 

"  Trust  to  his  luck ;  it  is  all  we  can  do.  There  is 
an  inscrutable  Providence  behind  Finnegan ;  he  never 
yet  got  drunk  but  to  a  purpose — unknown  to  him 
self  perhaps,  but  vital." 

"Where  did  you  see  him  last,  Mr.  Ryerson?  " 
asked  the  executive. 

"  It  was  when  we  were  loading  the  after  tube. 
He  was  much  in  the  way,  and  I  told  him  to  go  and 
hide  himself.  I  wonder  if  he  did.  I  hope  so — my 
God,  yes.  I  hope  he  did,  and  escaped  that  butch 
ery." 

"  Was  he  stupidly  drunk — that  is,  ready  to  fall 
down?" 

"  Oh,  no — he  could  navigate ;  and  he  said  he'd 
drunk  it  all,  or,  in  his  words,  *  put  it  away,'  so  he 
couldn't  have  got  much  worse." 

"  Put  it  away,"  repeated  the  first  lieutenant,  mus 
ingly.  "  Well,  Ryerson,  he's  dead,  no  doubt ;  but 


96  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

wherever  he  hid  himself,  at  your  suggestion,  he  went 
where  he  had  first  hidden  the  bottle." 

"  Small  comfort,"  remarked  Mr.  Ryerson,  sadly. 
"  They  would  kill  everybody,  drunk  or  sober.  It 
was  too  dark  to  distinguish  uniforms.  Poor  old 
devil ;  it's  all  my  fault." 

"  No,  Ryerson,"  replied  Mr.  Clarkson,  gently. 
"  Not  your  fault  at  all.  Get  it  off  your  mind. 
Think  of  something  else." 

"  You  are  not  to  blame,  Mr.  Ryerson,"  added  the 
captain,  fully  as  kindly.  "  Go  and  turn  in  now.  Get 
what  rest  you  can." 

"  Think  of  something  else,"  said  the  executive. 
"  Think  of  anything  at  all — some  mechanical  or 
mathematical  problem." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Ryerson,  being,  like  all  mechanical 
souls,  largely  amenable  to  suggestion,  responded 
with  a  grateful  look  at  their  sympathetic  faces,  and 
went  to  his  berth  resolutely  thinking  of  the  only 
mechanical  problem  on  his  mind — that  of  the  dam 
aged  torpedo;  and,  being  young,  went  instantly  to 
sleep,  to  waken  at  daylight  with  only  a  dumb  regret 
for  Finnegan,  and  his  soul  fully  obsessed  with  the 
still  unsolved  problem:  Could  the  Russians  repair  it? 

All  hands  had  breakfasted,  and,  bolting  his  hur 
riedly,  he  went  on  deck ;  there  was  excitement  in  the 
air.  It  was  a  clear,  cold  morning,  and  the  wind  had 
lulled  to  a  gentle  breeze  that  barely  crisped  the  level 
waters  of  the  bay.  Inshore  from  the  Argyll,  and 
about  a  half-mile  toward  the  southern  point  of  the 
bay,  swung  at  anchor  a  second-class  Japanese  battle 
ship,  and  astern  of  her  two  armored  cruisers,  from 
whose  protection  had  come  the  inquiring  torpedo- 
boat  of  the  night  before — all  riding  at  short  cables, 
all  flying  battle-flags,  and  belching  thick  smoke 


THE  TORPEDO  97 

from  every  funnel.  The  cause  was  apparent :  lying 
off  the  northern  point,  about  three  miles  away,  were 
two  uncouth  Russian  battle-ships  and  two  cruisers, 
from  which,  doubtless,  had  come  the  cutting-out 
party;  and  dodging  back  and  forth  among  them 
was  the  captured  torpedo-boat.  The  four  craft, 
battle-ships  ahead,  cruisers  in  the  rear,  were  coming 
in  column,  and  even  as  they  came,  while  Mr.  Ryer- 
son  was  climbing  the  bridge-stairs  to  join  his  brother 
officers,  a  puff  of  smoke  left  the  third  ship,  and  a 
shell  hissed  over  the  water.  It  fell  short  of  the  Jap 
anese  fleet,  but  it  was  the  signal  of  battle.  The 
three  ships  answered  with  every  gun  that  would  bear, 
tripped  their  anchors,  and  steamed  ahead. 

"  Hopelessly  outclassed,"  said  the  captain,  as  he 
viewed  the  Japanese  ships  through  his  binoculars. 
"  That  little  Shikoku,  with  her  two  ten-inch  guns, 
and  the  Hondo  and  Yesso,  with  nothing  bigger  than 
six,  against  those  four  bruisers."  He  looked  to 
ward  the  Russian  fleet.  "  Do  you  make  them  out, 
Mr.  Clarkson?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Clarkson,  his  glass  to  his 
eyes.  "  There  are  the  two  new  battle-ships,  if  I'm 
not  mistaken — the  Ladoga  and  Onega;  and  there  are 
the  Konigsberg  and  Diinaburg,  armored  cruisers, 
about  the  weight,  I  think,  captain,  of  the  Hondo  and 
Yesso.  The  torpedo-boat  is  making  tracks." 

"  And  that  is  what  we  must  do,"  rejoined  the  cap 
tain.  "  They're  going  to  fight,  and  we  are  in  the 
way — that  is,  unless  war  is  on ;  and  if  that  is  the  case 
we'll  know  very  soon.  Those  ships  are  right  out  of 
Newchwang,  and  would  have  the  news — by  wireless 
even — long  before  we  would.  Lift  the  anchor,  Mr. 
Clarkson.  We'll  move  on." 

The  Argyll  also  was  lying  at  a  short  cable  and 


98  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

belching  thick  smoke  from  her  funnels.  It  was  but 
five  minutes'  work  to  get  under  way,  and  she  steamed 
seaward  at  full  speed,  aiming  to  avoid  the  line  of  fire. 
But  even  though  her  amicable  intent  was  further 
indicated  by  the  hoisting — long  before  eight  bells,  in 
view  of  the  emergency — of  a  large  and  conspicuous 
British  ensign,  the  intent  was  seemingly  ignored  by 
the  Russians ;  for  an  eight-inch  shell  arrived  from 
the  largest  cruiser — the  flagship — struck  the 
Argyll's  stern,  exploded,  made  a  large  and  ragged 
cavity  in  that  part  of  her,  and  lifted  the  ensign,  flag 
staff  and  all,  overboard. 

"  Heavens !  "  gasped  the  captain,  as  he  looked  at 
the  shattered  deck  and  the  prostrate  forms  of  men — 
some  writhing,  others  still — visible  through  the 
smoke.  "  Was  that  shot  aimed?  We  are  out  of  the 
line  of  fire." 

"  My  fault — my  fault,"  groaned  Mr.  Ryerson. 
«  The  torpedo-boat  has  told  them." 

"What  of  it?"  demanded  the  executive  officer, 
excitedly.  "  It's  war — that's  what  it  is.  War  must 
be  declared,  captain.  They  aimed  that  shot.  They 
wouldn't  dare  to  without  authority  from  St.  Peters 
burg.  They  have  fired  on  her  Majesty's  ship." 

"  Yes — yes,"  rejoined  the  captain,  pale  of  face  and 
calm  of  speech.  "  But  we  must  make  no  more  mis 
takes  " — he  looked  significantly  at  the  unhappy  Mr. 
Ryerson — "  we  have  made  enough.  We  will  try  to 
get  the  despatch-boat  off  Weihaiwei.  There  may  be 
news  for  us." 

He  entered  the  chart-room  abaft  the  pilot-house, 
and  while  the  intermittent,  rasping  sound  of  wireless 
telegraphy  arose  above  the  humming  of  the  engines, 
the  officers  watched  the  carrying-down  of  the  dead 
and  wounded,  and  excitedly  discussed  the  reason  of 


THE  TORPEDO  99 

that  single  shot;  for  no  more  were  fired  at  the 
Argyll 

"  We  cannot  connect,"  said  the  captain,  when  the 
rasping  had  ceased,  and  he  came  among  them.  "  Yet 
we  all  know  that  England's  ultimatum  is  given,  and 
that  she  cannot  retreat.  But  if  Russia  should  give 
in?  What  then — if  we  answer  that  shot?  And  if 
she  does  not,  what  of  the  Argyll  with  that  shot  un 
answered?  "  He  looked  perplexed. 

"  It  was  not  a  chance  shot,  captain,"  said  Mr. 
Clarkson. 

"  It  might  have  been ;  they  have  not  repeated  it." 

"  They  are  busy,  captain,"  said  the  navigating 
officer.  "  They  have  knocked  a  chip  off  England's 
shoulder,  and  are  waiting  for  England's  return  blow. 
And  in  English  history,  captain,  it  has  never  been 
withheld."  There  was  entreaty  in  the  voice  of  the 
navigator,  and  a  little  of  the  perplexity  left  the  face 
of  the  captain. 

"  They  have  shot  away  the  ensign,  captain,  and 
have  killed  our  men,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson.  "  There 
is  no  signal  for  apology.  War  must  be  on,  sir.  The 
despatch-boat  is  captured,  surety,  or  we  should  have 
received  orders." 

"  But  the  consequences,  gentlemen?  "  said  the  wav 
ering  captain.  "  You  are  young  and  patriotic,,  but 
I  am  responsible.  A  false  step  at  this  juncture  will 
involve  England  in  the  imbroglio.  France  must  fol 
low  ;  then  Turkey,  Germany,  and  possibly  the  United 
States.  In  these  days  of  wireless  telegraphy  we  can 
afford  to  wait  until  sure." 

"  But  the  attack  on  the  torpedo-boat  was  arranged 
with  regard  to  us,  captain,"  implored  Mr.  Clarkson. 
"  They  knew  we  were  there.  It  was  done  under 
our  guns.  They  fired  on  our  men." 


100  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  Our  men  ought  not  to  have  been  there,  and  a 
shot  had  been  fired  at  them." 

Though  the  captain's  words  were  emphatic,  there 
were  doubt  and  hesitation  in  his  utterance;  and  he 
did  not  look  at  Mr.  Ryerson. 

"  And  they've  killed  Finnegan,"  ventured  this 
young  officer. 

"  He  was  drunk,"  responded  the  captain,  some 
what  regretfully. 

"  Too  drunk  to  take  care  of  himself,  captain,"  said 
Mr.  Clarkson,  earnestly.  "  You  have  said  yourself, 
sir,  that  Providence  was  behind  Finnegan — that  he 
never  gets  drunk  but  to  a  purpose  that  is  vital. 
Perhaps  it  is  showing  in  this.  He  got  drunk,  sir; 
he  delayed  the  boat-party  in  its  work,  and  involved 
it  in  the  friction  with  the  Russians  that  has  resulted 
in  that  shot — that  insult  to  England — to  the  end 
that,  in  the  absence  of  news  that  war  is  on,  we  may, 
by  resenting  the  insult,  act  rightly  and  save  Eng 
land's  prestige." 

"  Quarters,  gentlemen ! "  answered  the  captain, 
promptly.  "  Strip  ship  for  action !  We'll  take  a 
hand  in  this." 

And  so  was  reached  the  decision  that  sent  the 
Argyll  into  battle,  that  menaced  the  integrity  of 
boundaries,  the  ownership  of  isthmian  canals,  the 
peace,  the  purpose,  and  the  progress  of  the  world 
for  a  hundred  years — not  because  England's  dignity 
was  in  danger,  but  because  Old  Man  Finnegan  got 
drunk. 

There  was  confusion  confounded  in  that  ship  for  a 
few  moments.  Drum-calls,  bugle-calls,  whistles,  and 
profanity  troubled  the  air.  Men  scurried  about,  in 
and  out  of  superstructure  doors — up  and  down 
hatchways  and  ladders.  Stanchions,  gratings,  all 


THE  TORPEDO  101 

wooden  deck-fittings  went  below  the  water-line;  all 
boats,  with  the  plugs  out,  went  overboard,  fastened 
together,  with  their  oars  for  a  sea-anchor;  every 
thing  movable,  or  productive  of  splinters,  was  placed 
out  of  the  way  of  shot  and  shell,  except  the  signal- 
yard  and  halyards ;  and  to  this  yard  arose  numerous 
combinations  of  small  flags,  each  holding  a  mes'sfeg.? 
to  the  Japanese,  while  high  overhead  "flew  ^he  white 
naval  ensign  of  Britain — another  chip  tc  replace:  tlae 
one  knocked  off.  Then  order  came  out  of  chaos,  and 
all  was  quiet  but  the  voice  of  an  officer  aloft  calling 
out  ranges. 

Rounding  slowly  to  a  port  wheel  the  Argyll  headed 
to  cross  the  bows  of  the  Russians  and  take  a  position 
at  the  rear  of  the  Japanese  column,  this  being  the 
matter  decided  with  the  small  flags.  But  long  be 
fore  she  reached  her  place  the  eight-  and  thirteen- 
inch  rifles  in  her  turrets  were  speaking,  and  several 
tons  of  steel  had  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  Russians. 

Mr.  Clarkson  had  gone  to  his  station  in  the  for 
ward  turret,  and  the  other  officers  to  various  gun- 
positions  scattered  about  the  ship,  where,  subject  to 
telephonic  communication  from  the  conning-tower, 
they  oversaw  the  work  of  hurling  steel  through  the 
air.  But  Mr.  Ryerson's  specialty  was  the  launching 
of  mechanical  fish,  useless  at  more  than  two  thousand 
yards'  range ;  so,  after  an  inspection  of  his  torpedoes 
atid  his  men,  he  returned  to  the  bridge  as  an  aide 
to  the  captain  and  navigating  officer. 

No  one  cares  to  enter  a  conning-tower  in  action 
until  driven  in  by  gun-fire,  and  the  captain  and  his 
officers  remained  without,  where,  though  there  was 
greater  danger,  there  was  more  air  and  a  clearer  view. 
Leaving  out  the  tale-bearing  torpedo-boat,  now  far 
to  the  rear  of  the  Russians,  the  two  fleets  were  evenly 


102  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

matched  in  numbers,  each  consisting  of  two  battle 
ships  and  two  cruisers ;  but  the  advantage  in  weight 
of  armor  and  armament  lay  with  the  Russians ;  for 
the  two  heavier  ships  of  the  latter  were  equal  to  the 
Argyll,  while  the  Shikoku,  the  Japanese  battle-ship, 
was  much  smaller — hardly  better,  in  fact,  than  an 
armored  rruiser  of  a  Western  power.  Her  position 
in  the  van  was.  her  undoing.  While  the  fleets  were 
app.roachiii^  she  received  the  full  fire  of  the  Ladoga 
and  che"  Onega',  the  two  leading  Russian  ships,  and 
armor-piercing  shells,  designed  for  heavier  work,  en 
tered  her  citadel,  exploded  within,  disabled  her  en 
gines,  and  set  her  afire.  She  reeled  drunkenly  out  of 
line  and  came  to  a  stop.  Smoke  poured  from  hatches, 
ventilators,  and  gun-ports,  but  her  heavy  guns  were 
speaking  and  sending  their  messengers  while  her  crew 
could  breathe  in  the  turrets.  The  following  ships 
came  up  and  passed  her,  and  as  the  Argyll  brought 
her  abreast  it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  sinking. 
But  there  is  no  stopping  to  save  life  in  a  sea-fight. 
The  Argyll  passed  on. 

Whatever  the  animus  of  that  first  eight-inch  shell, 
there  was  no  mistaking  that  of  the  horizontal  hail 
that  pounded  the  Argyll  now.  The  Hondo  and 
Yesso,  ahead  of  her,  received  attention  only  from  the 
Konigsberg  and  Dunaburg,  the  two  cruisers  of  the 
Russians,  while  the  battle-ships,  high-sided,  heavily 
armored  craft,  sent  their  twelve-  and  seven-inch  shot 
and  shell  directly  at  the  Argyll.  Soon  the  formation 
was  broken,  and  the  battle  became  a  melee — the 
cruisers  engaging  in  a  four-cornered  fight  by  them 
selves,  the  Argyll  engaging  the  two  battle-ships, 
steaming  up  between  them  in  order  to  use  all  guns. 

And  from  the  heavier  of  these  guns  came  thirteen- 
and  eight-inch  shot  and  shell. 


THE  TORPEDO  103 

Loosely  speaking,  a  battle-ship's  gun-positions  are 
protected  by  armor  equal  in  thickness  to  the  caliber 
of  the  guns  within,  and  it  is  accepted  that  pointed 
projectiles  from  these  guns  will,  at  short  range, 
pierce  such  armor  on  an  enemy's  ship,  but  will  shatter 
to  pieces  on  the  outer  surface  of  armor  that  is 
slightly  thicker.  Thus  the  Argyll,  though  fighting 
two  ships,  each  as  heavy  as  herself  in  total  weight, 
had  the  advantage  of  one  inch  in  armor  and  calibers, 
and,  had  victory  depended  upon  large-gun  fire,  this 
inch  would  have  won  it ;  but  an  important  factor  in 
naval  warfare  is  the  efficacy  of  the  secondary  bat 
tery  of  quick-fire  guns,  potent  against  gunners,  gun- 
sights,  and  torpedo-boats ;  and  about  the  time  that 
the  captain  and  his  aides  were  driven  into  the  con- 
ning-tower  this  battery,  scattered  about  the  Argyll's 
deck,  superstructure,  and  fighting-tops,  began  to  dis 
integrate  under  the  well-directed  seven-inch  shell- 
fire  of  the  Ladoga  and  Onega. 

Men  died  under  that  storm  of  steel  and  flame; 
shrieks  and  groans  followed  the  rattle  and  roar  of 
€ach  exploding  shell;  smoke  and  gas  came  into  the 
conning-tower,  blinding  and  choking  the  inmates, 
and  Mr.  Ryerson,  his  ears  ringing,  his  eyes  stream 
ing,  striving  to  keep  a  lookout  through  a  peep-hole 
to  port  while  he  attended  to  three  telephones  and  a 
speaking-tube,  had  little  time  to  think  of  unsolved 
mechanical  problems,  or  even  the  fate  of  poor  old 
Finnegan.  Yet  for  one  brief  moment  the  troubles  of 
the  night  flashed  into  his  mind  because  of  what  he 
saw  far  away  through  his  peep-hole — a  high-crested 
wave  moving  over  the  sea,  and  behind  it  three  stumpy 
funnels  and  a  glimpse  of  low  hull. 

"The  torpedo-boat,  captain!"  he  called.  "See 
her — over  to  port !  She's  making  for  the  cruisers !  " 


104*  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  I  see,"  answered  the  captain,  withdrawing  his 
pale  face  from  the  slit  before  him.  "  Bring  every 
eight-  and  six-inch  gun  to  bear  upon  her.  We  haven't 
a  secondary  gun  left ;  but  she  must  be  stopped." 

They  could  not  stop  her.  A  torpedo-boat  at  thirty 
knots  is  an  elusive  target,  and  though  the  sea  about 
her  was  churned  into  foam  by  the  fusillade  from  the 
Argyll,  the  Yesso,  and  the  Hondo,  she  seemed  unin 
jured  and  went  on. 

"  Nothing  but  small  calibers  can  touch  her,"  ex 
claimed  the  captain,  as  he  looked.  "  We  have 
nothing,  but  perhaps  the  Japanese  cruisers  can  do  it. 
Protect  them.  Turn  every  gun  possible  on  those 
Russian  cruisers.  Sink  them  quickly." 

And  by  speaking-tube  and  telephone  this  order 
went  to  the  turrets ;  but  not  before  Mr.  Clarkson  in 
the  forward  turret  had  discharged  the  two  thirteen- 
inch  rifles  in  his  care  at  the  target  aimed  at — the 
Ladoga,  the  nearest  and  largest  battle-ship.  One 
after  the  other,  two  pointed  cylinders,  each  over 
half  a  ton  in  weight,  sailed  through  the  air  and  struck 
nearly  in  the  same  place,  at  the  water-line  at  the 
stern.  There  were  two  explosions,  and  when  the 
yellow  smoke  had  cleared  they  could  see  that  the 
whole  after  part  of  the  monster  ship  had  disappeared, 
and  that  she  was  settling  by  the  stern. 

66  Steering-gear  gone,  surely,"  remarked  the  cap 
tain.  "  Let  her  alone  for  a  while.  Attend  to  those 
cruisers." 

They  were  attended  to ;  and  in  five  minutes — the 
Konigsberg  down  by  the  head,  the  Diindberg  leaning 
heavily  to  port — they  were  making  for  the  beach, 
their  guns  silenced  and  their  crews  swarming  on 
deck.  No  cruiser  may  withstand  the  fire  of  a  battle 
ship. 


THE  TORPEDO  105 

In  the  integrity  of  that  oncoming  torpedo-boat 
now  lay  the  palm  of  victory,  and  the  Russian  battle 
ships  profited  by  the  lesson,  turning  their  guns  to 
the  Japanese  cruisers ;  but  by  this  time  they  had 
demolished  the  last  of  the  Argyll's  small  rifles,  leav 
ing  nothing  but  the  heavy  eight-  and  thirteen-inch 
guns  in  the  turrets — terrible  weapons  when  they 
could  touch  a  target,  but  useless  for  quick  work. 
So,  having  the  Ladoga  at  his  mercy  when  he  should 
have  time  to  choose  position,  the  Argyll's  captain 
directed  his  fire  at  the  Onega,  hoping  to  disable  her 
and  trusting  to  the  secondary  guns  of  the  cruisers 
to  stop  that  menacing  torpedo-boat. 

She  could  not  be  stopped.  The  demoralizing  fire 
of  the  Russians  silenced  the  guns  of  the  Hondo  and 
Yesso,  and  the  two  cruisers,  enveloped  in  steam  and 
smoke,  headed  shoreward,  struggling  lamely  to  reach 
the  beach,  and  still  pounded  by  the  pitiless  fire  of 
the  battle-ships.  But  things  were  happening  to 
these  battle-ships.  Little  by  little,  as  the  Argyll's 
shells  plunged  into  them  and  exploded,  their  softer 
parts  changed  shape  and  identity.  Superstructures 
were  reduced  to  scrap-heaps,  and  the  seven-inch  fire 
lessened  as  gun  after  gun  was  demolished.  Funnels, 
boat-cranes,  and  ventilators  became  tangled  masses 
of  steel.  Masts  bent,  tottered,  and  fell,  one  of  them 
— on  the  smaller  ship,  the  Onega — jamming  the  pro 
truding  guns  of  the  forward  turret  and  putting  them 
out  of  action.  Then  an  uprising  of  shattered  metal 
amidships  and  a  cloud  of  steam  and  yellow  smoke 
told  of  exploded  ammunition  and  punctured  boilers ; 
and  but  for  an  occasional  belching  from  the  still 
intact  after  turret  this  ship's  work  was  done.  She 
heeled  to  starboard,  settled  by  the  stern,  and  showed 
signs  of  sinking. 


106  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

There  was  still  the  Ladoga,  however,  a  floating  pile 
of  iron  unable  to  steer,  but  with  two  intact  turrets 
containing  four  twelve-inch  rifles,  and  there  was  an 
onrushing  torpedo-boat,  now  but  half  a  mile  away. 
Yet,  aside  from  the  presence  in  the  fight  of  this  tor 
pedo-boat,  the  battle  was  with  the  Argyll,  even 
though  there  was  nothing  left  of  her  but  her  citadel, 
conning-tower,  turrets,  machinery,  and  the  sub 
marine  part  of  her  cellular  hull  that  floated  the 
whole ;  for  it  was  but  a  matter  of  time  when  she  could 
hammer  the  three  remaining  Russian  turrets  out  of 
commission.  But  on  came  the  torpedo-boat;  and, 
there  being  nothing  but  an  occasional  twelve-inch 
shell  coming  their  way  now,  the  captain  and  officers 
stepped  out  of  the  conning-tower  to  watch  her. 

There  was  a  mournful  procession  making  for  the 
beach — four  smoking,  reeling  ships  creeping  along, 
the  two  in  the  van  spitting  at  the  two  in  the  rear, 
these  two  spitting  at  the  low,  three-funneled  craft 
rushing  along  between  its  two  high  waves.  And 
over  to  the  southward  was  a  still  more  mournful 
sight — the  sinking  Japanese  battle-ship,  her  deck 
crowded  with  men  and  her  boats  far  away  from  her. 

Neglecting  the  battle-ships,  the  captain  gave 
steam  to  the  Argyll,  and  she  rushed  ahead,  her  eight- 
inch  guns  barking  at  the  one  dangerous  enemy;  but 
nothing  touched  the  small  terror — more  feared  by 
naval  men  than  the  largest  fighter — and  she  raced 
on,  rapidly  closing  the  distance  between  herself  and 
the  rearmost  Japanese  cruiser,  the  Yesso.  In  a  storm 
of  rattling  small  fire  she  crept  up,  passed  out  of  sight 
behind  the  cruiser,  and  emerged  ahead,  her  crew 
wheeling  a  torpedo  from  amidships  to  the  smoking 
tube  in  the  bow.  Then  a  convulsion  was  seen  in  the 
cruiser;  she  rolled  to  starboard,  rolled  back,  and  out 


THE  TORPEDO  107 

of  all  midship  apertures  came  yellow  smoke.  She 
did  not  roll  to  starboard  again;  she  settled  as  she 
lay — torpedoed. 

On  went  the  destroyer,  her  crew  launching  home 
the  second  torpedo.  The  officers  on  the  Argyll's 
shattered  bridge  watched  her  through  binoculars,  the 
pallor  of  intense  emotion  showing  through  their 
grime-stained  faces,  and  only  the  mechanical  soul 
of  Mr.  'Ryerson  rising  above  the  horror  of  the  situa 
tion  to  inspire  the  remark  between  tightly  drawn  lips : 
"  Bunglers — they  handle  it  like  a  piece  of  beef — 
not  torpedo-men." 

The  murderous  craft  disappeared  behind  the  other 
Japanese  cruiser,  and  again  was  the  death-blow  de 
livered.  The  Hondo  rolled,  smoked,  and  settled,  like 
her  sister,  and  out  from  behind  her  again  emerged 
the  torpedo-boat,  turning  slowly  in  a  wide  circle,  her 
crew  again  wheeling  a  torpedo  forward. 

"  Our  turn  next,"  said  the  captain,  grimly,  as  he 
moved  the  steering-lever  to  port  and  gave  full  speed 
to  the  engines.  "  We'll  meet  her  end  on." 

But  the  wide  curve  of  the  torpedo-boat  became 
a  straight  line,  and  she  rushed  south  toward  the  sink 
ing  Shikoku. 

The  two  Russian  battle-ships  were  still  sending 
heavy  shells  into  the  soft  parts  of  the  Argyll — in 
view  of  this  the  deck  seemed  the  safest  place  on 
board — and,  while  her  own  thirteen-inch  guns  were 
answering  the  Russian  fire,  her  eight-inch  fire  was 
directed  solely  at  the  elusive  torpedo-boat.  Yet 
nothing  hit  her  from  this  point.  It  was  only  when 
she  drew  .near  to  the  burning,  sinking  Japanese  bat 
tle-ship  that  a  storm  of  small  projectiles  from  a  still 
intact  secondary  battery  met  her  and  drove  her  back ; 
in  the  froth  of  water  raised  by  this  hail  of  steel  she 


108  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

turned  swiftly  on  her  keel,  and,  steering  for  a  point 
ahead  of  the  onrushing  Argyll,  raced  along  to  meet 
her.  She  presented  a  moving  target  on  this  course, 
not  only  to  the  dwindling  small  fire  of  the  Shikoku, 
but  to  the  eight-inch  fire  of  the  Argyll,  and  she  came 
on  uninjured,  only  to  again  court  real  danger  when 
she  should  turn  for  the  final,  end-on  rush  in  the 
Argyll's  track;  and  even  then  she  could  expect  only 
one  blast  from  the  forward  guns  before  she  would  be 
within  their  limit  of  depression.  But  when  she  had 
turned  suddenly  in  the  Argyll's  path,  and  the  two 
craft  were  approaching  at  the  rate  of  their  added 
speeds,  it  was  fated  that  one  eight-inch  shell,  sent 
from  a  hurriedly  swung  turret,  should  hit  her 
squarely  in  the  bow  and  explode.  When  the  yellow 
smoke  had  cleared,  it  was  seen  that  there  was  little 
left  there  of  that  bow,  or  of  the  torpedo-tube  above 
it,  or  of  the  men  near  it;  but,  though  perceptibly 
down  by  the  head,  she  was  still  coming  at  a  good  rate 
of  speed,  and  her  balance  of  men  were  rushing  aft 
to  man  the  tube  in  the  stern.  Soon  she  was  within 
the  range  of  torpedo  action,  and  a  little  later  within 
the  circle  of  gun  depression;  but  still  she  came  on, 
slower  and  slower  as  she  settled,  her  remnant  of  crew, 
with  sure  death  before  them,  waiting  for  close  quar 
ters  before  striking  the  last  blow  permitted  them  by 
fate. 

"  All  hands  on  deck !  "  said  the  captain.  "  Every 
man  for  himself  now !  Hammocks,  Mr.  Ryerson !  " 

A  man-of-war-man's  hammock,  if  the  mattress  be 
half  filled  with  cork,  is  an  efficient  life-preserver. 
The  cry  went  through  the  depths,  and  seven  hundred 
men  swarmed  up,  black  and  grimy,  more  or  less 
naked,  each  bearing  his  hammock  and  breathing 
deeply  of  the  sweet,  fresh  air.  They  crowded  to  the 


THE  TORPEDO  109 

side  and  looked  at  the  coming  death  with  more  of 
relief  in  their  faces  than  anxiety;  they  had  been  an 
hour  in  closed  compartments. 

But  there  was  anxiety  in  the  faces  of  those  on  the 
wrecked  bridge ;  the  human  dread  of  death  is  keener 
to  those  who  must  watch  and  wait — who  cannot 
move  and  work.  Pale  of  face,  with  folded  arms  and. 
tightly  pressed  lips,  the  officers  looked  at  the  crip 
pled  little  craft  with  its  handful  of  men  dancing  and 
shouting  around  the  tube  at  the  stern — doomed  them 
selves,  but  bound  to  take  with  them  to  the  bottom 
this  strong  and  majestic  battle-ship  with  her  seven 
hundred  souls.  Only  the  executive  officer  was  prac 
tical. 

"  Did  they  torpedo  the  Shikoku?  "  he  asked,, 
calmly,  of  Ryerson. 

"  I  don't  know — I  didn't  notice,"  answered  the 
young  officer,  explosively.  "  Why,  yes,  they  must. 
There's  none  on  deck.  They  repaired  the  damaged 
one,  after  all,  and  put  it  in  aft." 

"  Here  she  is,  gentlemen,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Good-by,  everybody.  Each  man  for'  himself,  but 
— I  shall  go  down  with  my  ship.  I  thought  too  much 
of  Finnegan's  importance." 

The  supreme  moment  had  arrived.  The  Argyll 
was  steaming  at  eighteen  knots,  the  torpedo-boat  at 
about  fifteen — a  total  rate  of  approach  equal  to 
thirty-three  knots  an  hour.  At  this  railroad  speed 
the  little  craft,  with  her  nose  nearly  buried  and  the 
tube  trained  athwartship,  swung  up  alongside  of  the 
giant  battle-ship,  so  close  that  the  whites  of  the  Rus 
sians'  eyes  were  plainly  visible.  She  came  amidships, 
a  puff  of  smoke  arose  from  the  breech  of  the  tube,  a 
cough  of  compressed  air  came  to  their  ears,  and  there 
shot  out  of  the  tube — not  a  deadly  Whitehead  tor- 


110  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

pedo,  but  Old  Man  Finnegan,  with  a  bottle  tightly 
clinched  in  one  outstretched  hand,  a  frightened, 
sleepy,  just-awakened  expression  on  his  face,  and  a 
yell  of  protest  coming  from  his  throat  which  the 
water  cut  short  as  he  dived.  A  chorus  of  laughter 
and  encouraging  yells  responded,  and  a  hundred 
shipmates  went  overboard  to  his  rescue. 

"  That  was  it !  "  hysterically  gurgled  the  torpedo 
lieutenant,  a  little  later.  "  The  bottle  was  the  ob 
struction  in  the  tube,  and  he  hid  himself  where  he'd 
first  hidden  the  bottle." 

"  And  the  Russians,"  said  the  practical  Mr.  Clark- 
son,  gravely,  "  thought  the  tube  was  loaded,  closed 
it,  primed  it,  and  fired  him  at  us.  But  the  captain 
was  right,  after  all.  Finnegan  is  an  instrument  of 
Providence." 


THE  SUBMARINE 

BY  wireless  telegraphy,  international  code-signal, 
and  despatch-boat  gossip  her  existence  was 
known  to  the  allied  fleets,  but  the  world  at  large  had 
learned  of  her,  while  yet  in  process  of  construction, 
through  indiscreet  official  babbling  at  St.  Petersburg 
and  immediate  publication  of  the  news  in  the  London 
Times.  Later  on,  Japanese  spies  heard  of  her  as  far 
inland  as  Lake  Baikal,  coming  along  on  a  flat-car  of 
the  Siberian  railroad,  and  so  reported;  but  at  Har 
bin  all  trace  of  her  was  lost — it  was  not  known 
whether  she  would  proceed  farther  east  to  Vladivo 
stok,  or  whether  she  would  turn  south  and  take  to 
the  sea  from  Newchwang,  Shanhaikwan,  or  Port  Ar 
thur.  But,  though  her  whereabouts  was  doubtful, 


THE  SUBMARINE  111 

her  plans  and  specifications  were  known  to  every 
officer  on  every  ship  from  Vladivostok  to  Shanghai; 
and  to  all  lookouts,  search-light  men,  and  boat 
parties  instructions  were  given  to  watch  for  an  ob 
ject  resembling  a  green  washtub  floating  upside- 
down. 

This  would  be  her  conning-tower — all  that  would 
show  when  she  had  risen  to  the  surface  for  a  peep 
around.  For  the  rest,  according  to  specifications, 
she  was  sixty-three  feet  long,  cigar-shaped,  with  five 
torpedoes  and  a  tube  in  her  nose,  a  gasoline  engine 
for  surface  running  and  a  reversible  motor-dynamo, 
drawing  power  from  a  storage-battery  charged  by 
itself,  for  submarine  work.  With  ballast-tanks 
empty  she  floated  high,  and  could  easily  be  seen; 
with  these  filled  with  water  she  sank  to  the  awash 
condition,  from  which  she  could  dive  out  of  sight 
in  a  few  seconds  by  the  aid  of  her  motion  and  hori 
zontal  rudders.  But,  with  every  tank  full  and  her 
engine  stopped,  she  still  possessed  a  reserve  buoy 
ancy  which  would  bring  her  slowly  to  the  surface. 
She  could  travel  awash  four  hundred  miles;  sub 
merged,  fifty.  In  this  radius  of  action  she  could 
expend  her  five  Whitehead  torpedoes,  and  return 
to  port  again  and  again  for  more.  Her  torpedoes 
were  miniature  models  of  herself,  with  thirty-knot 
speed,  automatic  controlling-gear  to  replace  the 
human  intelligence  within  the  mother-boat,  and  a 
two-hundred-and-twenty-pound  charge  of  gun-cotton 
in  their  heads  that  exploded  on  impact.  Her  mission 
was  secret  and  unseen ;  her  blow,  sudden  and  deadly ; 
and  even  though  she  struck  no  blow,  her  presence  in 
Eastern  seas  was  of  more  injury  to  the  morale  of  the 
crews  than  was  the  gun-fire  of  action,  for  she  was 
conducive  to  neurasthenia;  officers  wore  an  anxious, 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

worried  look,  men  lost  their  appetites  and  saved  on 
their  mess-money,  and  Old  Man  Finnegan,  of  the 
Argyll,  stopped  drinking.  It  was  bad  for  his  nerves 
to  stop  so  suddenly ;  and,  as  it  was  given  him  to  be 
the  first  one  to  see  that  inverted  washtub,  while  out 
at  the  end  of  the  boat-boom,  he  promptly  sang  out 
the  news  to  the  bridge,  then  fell  overboard. 

The  ship  was  anchored  in  a  deep  and  narrow 
strait,  with  a  swift  but  smooth  tide  running  past. 
Mr.  Felton  was  officer  of  the  deck ;  he  saw  Finnegan 
fall,  saw  the  circular  steel  object  coming  up  on  the 
port  quarter,  and  immediately  ordered  a  boat  cleared 
away  for  the  one  and  the  secondary  battery  for  the 
other,  while  all  hands  rushed  on  deck  and  the  captain 
and  other  officers  joined  him  on  the  bridge.  But  Fin 
negan  needed  no  boat ;  he  slid  up  sprawling  on  the 
turtle-back  of  the  oncoming  submarine.  And  the 
latter  needed  no  immediate  attention  from  the  bat 
tery,  for  a  circular  hatch  flew  up  from  the  top  of  the 
conning-tower,  and  a  keen-eyed,  shrewd-faced  man 
popped  his  head  out,  yelled  incomprehensible  things 
in  a  strange  tongue  at  Finnegan,  finished  with  a 
profane  request  in  good  English  to  come  amidships 
and  trim  the  boat — which  Finnegan  obeyed — and 
steered  the  curious  craft  up  under  the  boat-boom, 
where  he  slowed  down,  by  which  time  the  cutter 
lowered  for  Finnegan  was  in  the  water. 

"  On  board  the  torpedo-boat ! "  shouted  Mr.  Fel 
ton  through  a  megaphone.  "  What's  your  name  and 
nationality?  " 

"  Thunder  and  blazes !  "  answered  the  man  in  the 
conning-tower.  "  Are  you  English  ?  I  thought  you 
were  Russian.  Well,  damn  my  fool  soul !  " 

"  Keep  your  hands  up  in  sight,"  called  the  lieuten 
ant.  "  Don't  move  a  lever,  or  we'll  sink  you.  This 


THE  SUBMARINE 

is  his  Majesty's  ship  Argyll.    Come  aboard  and  give 
an  account  of  yourself.     Step  into  that  cutter." 

"  Wait,"  interrupted  the  Argyll's  captain.  "  Be 
fore  you  leave,  empty  your  ballast-tanks.  You  are 
too  low  in  the  water — too  elusive." 

"  Empty  now,  captain,"  answered  the  skipper  of 
the  lesser  craft.  "  We've  got  the  equivalent  down 
aft  in  the  bilges.  The  tail-shaft  was  badly  packed, 
and  the  engine-room's  nearly  full  of  water.  We've 
stopped  the  leak  from  within.  Oh,  I'm  a  damned 
fool." 

"  Then  come  on  board." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  will,  as  the  jig's  up.  But  suppose  I 
make  fast  to  your  boat-boom  first.  There'll  be  no 
strain  on  it.  I'm  steering  with  the  diving-rudder 
hard  down  to  trim  her  against  that  weight  of  water, 
and  must  keep  her  turning  over,  or  she'll  sit  on  her 
tail." 

"  Do  so,"  answered  Mr.  Felton.  "  Finnegan,  take 
that  man's  place  at  the  wheel  and  steer  after  the 
boat-boom." 

"  Steer  small,"  said  the  captain  to  Finnegan,  as 
he  climbed  out  of  the  hatch  and  stood  knee-deep  on 
the  submerged  deck.  "  It's  an  air-engine  steering- 
gear.  Don't  touch  anything  but  the  wheel." 

The  old  man,  shaky  with  age  and  nerves,  floun 
dered  into  the  conning-tower  and  took  the  wheel — 
the  upper  spokes  of  which  were  visible  to  those  on 
the  high  bridge  of  the  battle-ship — while  the  boat's 
commander  waded  forward  on  the  round  and  un 
stable  platform  to  where  a  ring-bolt  showed  through 
the  water. 

"  Strikes  me,"  he  said,  with  a  quizzical  glance  at 
Finnegan  and  at  those  above,  "  that  there's  no  real 
necessity  of  a  second  man  getting  wet  feet  when  the 


114  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

first  is  drenched  through.  But  I'm  not  bossing 
this." 

He  was  doomed  to  a  worse  wetting.  He  had  fas 
tened  the  end  of  a  line  thrown  him  from  the  boom  to 
the  ring-bolt,  and  was  reaching  for  a  hanging  Jacob's 
ladder  to  climb  to  the  boom,  when  those  above  saw 
him  sink  out  of  sight;  then  they  saw  the  open  con- 
ning-tower  rush  forward,  settling  as  it  came.  Some 
saw  Finnegan's  face,  with  its  look  of  pained  amaze 
ment,  others  only  heard  his  yell :  "  Leggo  me  legs — 
leggo  !  Lemme  out !  "  Then  Finnegan  and  the  con- 
ning-tower  went  under,  the  rope  snapped,  and  the 
water  was  smooth  but  for  the  ripples  caused  by  the 
swimming  captain  and  a  line  of  large,  irregular  bub 
bles  that  stretched  ahead  for  a  hundred  feet  and 
stopped. 

It  happened  so  suddenly  that  not  a  shot  was  fired, 
though  every  gun  in  the  port  battery  was  trained 
and  ready.  Not  a  gunner  on  board  would  shoot  at 
Finnegan  unless  ordered,  and  Mr.  Felton  had  not 
given  the  word.  But  he  ordered  the  boat,  after  it 
had  picked  up  the  swimmer,  to  pull  ahead  ready 
for  Finnegan  or  any  others  who  might  have  climbed 
out  of  that  open  hatch  against  the  inrush  of  water; 
and  in  ten  minutes,  none  appearing  on  the  surface, 
he  called  it  back.  Drenched  and  dripping,  the  sub 
marine  boat's  commander  was  brought  into  the  pres 
ence  of  the  captain  and  officers  of  the  battle-ship. 

"  Well,  sir,"  asked  the  big  captain,  sternly,  "  what 
explanation  have  you  to  offer  of  this  trick?  " 

"  No  trick  at  all,  sir,"  answered  the  pale  and  crest 
fallen  man.  "  I  suppose  that  my  engineer  and  my 
quartermaster,  who  attends  to  the  diving-gear,  took 
a  chance  that  I  would  not.  If  they  die,  I  am  merely 
a  prisoner.  If  they  live,  I  am  disgraced." 


THE  SUBMARINE  115 

"Disgraced?  You,  an  Englishman,  serving  Rus 
sia,  talk  of  disgrace?  " 

"  An  American,  captain,  who  never  saw  England," 
answered  the  man,  with  dignity.  "  An  officer  of 
twenty  years'  service  in  the  imperial  navy.  Lieu 
tenant  Bronsonsky,  in  command  of  the  Russian  tor 
pedo-boat  Volga — plain  Jim  Bronson  back  in  Indi 
ana." 

"  Um — humph !  Different,  of  course.  What  hap 
pened  to  your  boat?  " 

"  None  of  my  men  understands  English.  Some 
one  gave  full  speed  to  the  motor,  under  which  we 
were  running.  The  diving-rudder  was  inclined;  it 
balanced  her  at  half-speed,  but  at  full  speed  made 
her  dive.  If  they  succeeded  in  closing  that  hatch 
in  time  they  may  save  their  lives,  but  not  the  boat. 
Nothing  but  a  wrecking  outfit  can  raise  her,  even  if 
found." 

"  Is  the  hatch  easily  closed?  " 

"  A  strong  spring  keeps  it  up,  and  also  down,  when 
pulled  past  a  dead  center.  A  man  must  reach  up 
for  it  against  the  downpour  of  water.  I  doubt  that 
it  could  be  done." 

"  How  about  air?    Is  there  enough?  " 

"  Plenty  of  compressed  air,  and  a  reserve  store  of 
oxygen.  If  they  escape  drowning,  they  will  starve 
before  they  will  suffocate." 

"  But  why,"  asked  the  captain,  "  were  you  alone 
in  these  seas  without  convoy?  And  why  did  you 
approach  us  so  unwisely  ?  " 

"  Now,  captain,"  answered  Bronson,  with  some 
hesitation,  "  you  are  scratching  the  hide  of  the  bear. 
I  do  not  know.  Russian  diplomacy,  I  suppose.  I 
can  tell  this  much,  however.  My  orders  were  to 
conceal  myself  until  I  reported  to  the  admiral  of  the 


116  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

outer  squadron,  except  that  in  this  strait  I  was  to 
deliver  verbal  information  to  a  battle-ship,  which, 
alone  of  the  Russian  fleet,  was  ignorant  of  the  news 
that  I  carried." 

"And  the  news?" 

"  It  is  known  to  the  world,  and  to  you.  The  pres 
ence  in  Eastern  seas  of  five  English  submarines." 

The  captain  smiled  and  bowed.  "  Yes,  known  to 
the  world,  for  we  have  been  at  pains  to  advertise  it. 
It  is  demoralizing  to  an  enemy  to  have  him  feel  that 
at  any  moment  a  submarine  may  creep  up  unseen 
and  torpedo  him.  We  are  now,  thanks  to  your  mis 
take,  freed  from  this  strain  upon  our  nerves.  How 
did  you  make  such  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Bronson,  coloring,  "  I  simply  took 
you  for  the  Russian  ship.  She  closely  resembles 

you." 

"  Inferior  in  armor,  armament,  and  marksman 
ship,"  said  the  captain,  dryly.  "  She  went  to  Wei- 
haiwei  yesterday  as  an  English  prize." 

"  But,  captain,"  interposed  Mr.  Clarkson,  in  sud 
den  alarm,  "  are  we  free  from  this  strain  upon  the 
nerves?  What  is  to  prevent  that  boat  from  coming 
back  and  torpedoing  us?  They  have  Finnegan. 
They  must  know  we  are  English." 

"  You  need  not  fear,"  answered  Bronson,  serenely ; 
"  she  is  helpless,  and  when  the  tide  has  drifted  her 
to  three  hundred  feet  depth,  she  will  be  crushed  in 
by  the  pressure." 

"  Did  you  inform  your  men  that  you  were  cap 
tured?  " 

"  No,"  said  Bronson,  knitting  his  brows.  "  They 
couldn't  have  known.  I  only  told  your  man  in  Eng 
lish  to  steer  small  and  to  touch  nothing  but  the 
wheel."  5 


THE  SUBMARINE  117 

"  Were  you  running  under  the  motor?  "  asked  the 
executive. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bronson.  "  It  was  the  only  pre 
caution  that  I  took." 

"  Was  there  a  starting  switch  in  the  conning- 
tower?" 

"  Yes."  Bronson's  face  lighted.  "  And  your 
man — " 

"  Finnegan's  luck,  perhaps,  captain !  "  interrupted 
Mr.  Clarkson.  "  You  know  your  theory." 

"You  think  he  started  the  motor?"  asked  the 
captain.  "  But  why?  Was  he  intoxicated?  " 

"  There's  the  rub,"  answered  the  officer,  doubt 
fully.  "  He  was  sober  as  the  chaplain.  Now,  if  he 
were  drunk,  I  would  swear  that  trouble  was  coming 
and  that  Finnegan  would  be  in  it — an  instrument  of 
Providence,  as  you  call  him.  But  he  was  sober — 
beastly  sober." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  captain ;  "  but  what 
trouble  threatens  us  more  than  did  that  submarine 
— now  on  the  bottom?  We  have  command  of  these 
seas." 

"  I  don't  know.  And  Finnegan  was  dead  sober. 
Had  you  any  whisky,  vodka,  or  other  intoxicant 
in  that  boat,  lieutenant?  " 

"  Not  a  drop,"  answered  Bronson.  "  Nor  any 
alcohol,  nor  varnish." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Clarkson,  "  if  he  was  drunk,  or 
could  get  drunk,  I'd  be  ready  for  trouble.  But  he 
was  sober,  and  of  course,  being  sober,  he  didn't  start 
the  motor.  He's  done  for,  captain." 

"  I  believe  so,"  answered  the  captain.  "  In  fact, 
I  see  no  hope  for  any  one  who  went  down  in  that 
boat.  You  see,  Lieutenant  Bronson,"  he  said  to 
the  puzzled  prisoner  of  war,  "  our  man  Finnegan 


118  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

occupies  a  peculiar  position  with  regard  to  the  ship's 
company  and  the  service  regulations.  Several  times, 
by  being  drunk  and  under  control  of  his  instincts, 
he  has  been  the  means  of  saving  this  ship  and  our 
lives.  So,  trusting  that  no  harm  will  come  to  him 
that  is  not  already  come,  we  permit  him  to  drink  all 
he  pleases.  If  he  were  drunk,  and  had  started  your 
boat  to  the  bottom,  we  might  believe  that  he  did 
so  for  some  purpose  known  only  to  God  and  his 
own  subliminal  self;  but  he  was  sober,  so  our 
theory  is  useless.  Now,  you  are,  of  course,  a  pris 
oner,  but  on  parole.  You  will  be  provided  with 
dry  clothing.  Make  yourself  at  home  among  my 
officers." 

So  Lieutenant  Bronson,  of  the  Russian  navy,  be 
came  for  the  time  a  supernumerary  officer  of  his 
Britannic  Majesty's  battle-ship  Argyll,  and,  clad  in 
an  undress  uniform  supplied  by  one  of  the  English 
officers,  mounted  to  the  forward  upper  fighting-top, 
where,  with  the  strongest  binoculars  on  board — bor 
rowed  from  the  captain — he  was  able  to  report  un 
officially,  but  decisively,  on  the  character  of  a  long, 
low,  destroyer-type  of  craft  that  crept  around  the 
headland  down-stream,  hovered  a  few  moments,  and 
then  hurried  seaward  at  thirty  knots,  followed  by 
about  half  a  ton  of  steel  from  the  Argyll's  six-inch 
and  secondary  guns.  "  Russian  scout-boat,"  he  re 
marked  to  the  deck,  then  turned  his  glasses  else 
where  on  the  smooth  waters  of  the  strait — where 
might  appear  some  traces  of  his  lost  boat  or  his  men. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  tide  had  turned  and 
gained  its  maximum  strength,  he  called  attention  to 
something  that  glistened  in  the  sun,  far  over  toward 
the  other  shore,  and  soon  after  he  pointed  out  an 
other  such  object  just  behind  it,  then  another, 


THE  SUBMARINE  119 

farther  out  in  the  stream,  then  a  fourth,  far  to  the 
rear  of  them  all. 

"  Torpedoes ! "  he  called  to  the  bridge  beneath. 
"  They've  shot  them  out  to  lighten  her.  They  float, 
you  know,  when  their  motion  stops.  There  should 
be  another  somewhere." 

He  turned  his  glass  around  for  a  moment,  then 
hailed  again :  "  Man  overboard !  "  and  pointed  dead 
ahead.  Then  a  dozen  lookouts  repeated  the  call, 
and  Bronson  came  down  to  the  bridge. 

The  man  could  be  seen  with  the  naked  eye;  a 
swarthy,  bearded  fellow,  who  swam  remarkably  high 
out  of  water,  even  for  a  strong  man.  But  Bronson, 
after  another  inspection  through  the  glass  from  the 
end  of  the  bridge,  stopped  the  comment  on  this  by 
the  quiet  remark :  "  He's  not  swimming  at  all ;  he's 
riding  a  torpedo.  Look  out  for  it,  gentlemen,  for 
you'll  find  the  safety-gear  unscrewed  from  the  deto 
nator.  That's  my  engineer." 

Whitehead  torpedoes  being  standardized,  are  val 
uable  to  any  craft  carrying  tubes,  and  boats  were 
sent  to  bring  them  in,  one  of  which  brought,  also, 
the  bearded  Russian  engineer.  Mr.  Bronson  trans 
lated  his  story. 

"  It  was  the  quartermaster,"  he  said,  "  who 
reached  up  and  moved  the  starting-switch  in  the 
conning-tower.  He  easily  surmised,  by  my  talking 
in  a  language  strange  to  him,  that  we  were  captured, 
and  when  he  saw  me  relinquish  the  wheel  to  Finne- 
gan  he  acted." 

"But  did  anybody  drown?"  asked  Mr.  Clarkson, 
eagerly.  "  Where's  Finnegan  ?  How  did  that  man 
get  out?" 

"  Some  must  have  drowned,"  went  on  Bronson, 
gravely.  "  The  quartermaster  got  Finnegan  out  of 


120  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

the  way  and  closed  the  hatch;  and  then  she  was 
bumping  along  the  bottom,  unable  to  rise  even  by 
her  own  motion  against  the  diving-rudder — hard  up. 
They  shot  out  the  torpedoes,  but  still  she  would  not 
rise;  then  they  drew  lots  and  ejected  themselves,  one 
by  one.  The  quartermaster  swam  to  a  torpedo  and 
was  rescued  by  that  scout-boat,  but  the  rest  must 
have  drowned,  for  the  engineer  did  not  see  them." 

"  But  who  remained  behind?  "  asked  Mr.  Clarkson. 
"  Who  drew  the  fatal  number  ?  " 

"  Finnegan — he  was  treated  fairly  and  instructed 
in  the  method." 

"  Poor  old  Finnegan,"  groaned  the  executive  of 
ficer.  "  Done  for  at  last.  He  has  saved  thousands 
of  lives  when  drunk,  and  now  must  die,  sober  and 
instructed,  to  save  a  half-dozen  enemies." 

The  groan  echoed,  mentally,  throughout  the  ship, 
and  men  went  to  their  sleep  that  night  praying  for 
the  soul  of  the  gentle  and  ridiculous  old  man  they 
had  loved. 

But  at  daylight  there  were  other  things  to  think 
of.  Sharp  but  intermittent  firing  was  heard,  and 
hardly  had  the  crew  got  to  quarters  before  there 
staggered  around  the  headland  below  a  large  mer 
chant-built  steamer,  with  huge  derricks  fitted  to  each 
mast,  a  few  small,  quick-fire  guns  mounted  in  high 
places  and  barking  as  she  came,  the  white  naval  en 
sign  of  Britain  flying  from  each  mast  and  gaff,  and  a 
volume  of  smoke  belching  upward  from  amidships. 
She  was  afire,  and,  as  if  this  trouble  were  not  enough, 
she  was  perceptibly  down  by  the  head,  proving  that 
at  least  one  compartment  was  filled.  She  turned  into 
the  strait  and  came  toward  the  Argyll. 

"  The  mother-ship,  lieutenant,"  explained  the  cap 
tain,  as  Bronson  appeared  on  the  bridge.  "  She  car- 


THE  SUBMARINE 

ries  our  five  submarines  and  a  holdful  of  White- 
heads.  Your  friends  are  after  her." 

"  And  after  you,  too,  captain,"  answered  Bronson. 
"  Look  there."  He  pointed  to  the  upper  end  of  the 
strait,  where,  far  out  over  the  gray  sea,  were  two 
grayer  spots,  from  each  of  which,  even  as  they  looked, 
came  a  twinkle  of  flame.  "  That  scout-boat  has  re 
ported  you." 

"  And  you,  too,  lieutenant,"  answered  the  captain, 
grimly.  "  She  rescued  one  of  your  men.  What  will 
happen  to  you  for  losing  that  boat?  " 

"  The  salt-mines  of  Siberia  for  me,"  answered 
Bronson.  "  I  am  pondering  on  the  ethics  of  deser 
tion." 

The  captain  glanced  inquiringly  at  him,  then  said, 
"  I  will  release  you  from  parole,  if  you  wish." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  accept  the  release,  officially ; 
but  will  always  maintain  it,  personally,  between  you 
and  myself.  But  I  am  still  pondering.  I  cannot 
desert  yet.  Please  put  me  in  irons." 

The  captain  smiled.  "  No,"  he  said.  "  You  can 
not  escape." 

But,  being  a  prisoner  no  longer  under  parole, 
Bronson  left  the  bridge;  and  by  this  time  two  foun 
tains  of  water  had  arisen  on  the  smooth  waters  of 
the  strait  perilously  near  to  the  Argyll,  proving  that 
the  men  behind  those  twinkles  of  flame  had  the  range. 

Then  two  booming  reports  came  over  the  sea; 
but  the  Argyll  remained  at  anchor  and  waited. 

The  gun-fire  from  behind  the  headland  below  had 
not  ceased,  and  soon  appeared — three  miles  out,  how 
ever — the  scout-boat  of  the  day  before.  She  passed 
slowly  across  the  opening,  firing  at  the  mother-ship 
but  maintaining  a  safe  distance.  Then  a  three- 
funneled,  high-sided,  armored  cruiser  appeared  in 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

view,  then  a  short,  bulky  battle-ship,  and  another 
smaller  cruiser.  All  directed  their  fire  at  the  reeling 
mother-ship,  coming  on  in  her  smoke,  her  crew  work 
ing  at  the  heavy  forward  crane. 

"  Only  three  submarines  on  her  deck,"  remarked 
the  captain,  as  he  viewed  her  through  his  glass. 
"  She  has  left  two  of  them  somewhere.  I  wonder  if 
they're  near  by  ?  " 

And  now  the  two  ships  coming  on  from  above — 
battle-ships,  evidently — changed  their  fire  from  the 
Argyll  to  the  other;  and  their  range-finders  were 
good  and  their  aim  was  good,  and  the  shells  that  they 
sent  were  heavy,  and  when  one  lifted  a  shower  of 
water  over  the  whole  slanting  deck  of  the  mother- 
ship  the  Argyll  acted.  She  was  caught  in  a  trap,  but 
that  unarmored,  unprotected  mother  with  her  five 
small  ducklings  needed  her  care,  and,  lifting  her 
anchor,  she  steamed  out  to  meet  her,  the  secondary 
battery  silent  the  while,  but  the  after-turret  guns 
belching  at  the  two  ships  at  sea,  the  forward  ones 
at  the  battle-ship,  the  two  cruisers,  and  the  scout. 
And  her  aim  was  good  and  her  range-finding  excel 
lent,  and  the  shells  she  sent  so  much  heavier  than 
those  sent  at  her  that  with  a  little  more  time  she 
might  have  saved  that  distracted  mother,  for  the  two 
cruisers  and  the  scout  withdrew  from  range  as  fast 
as  their  horse-power  would  admit.  But  the  battle 
ship  remained  broadside  to  the  target — flame,  smoke, 
and  pointed  steel  coming  from  her  turrets,  and  every 
fountain  of  water  raised  by  these  pointed  steel  shells 
closer  to  the  fleeing  mother-ship  than  the  last,  until 
finally  one  struck  her  in  the  stern  and  raked  through 
her  length.  She  separated  into  fragments. 

It  was  not  an  instantaneous  explosion ;  beginning 
at  the  stern  she  seemed  to  split  in  two,  while  a  line 


THE  SUBMARINE 

of  rising  flame  and  smoke  traveled  forward.  Then 
the  two  sides  disintegrated  and  sank;  the  masts 
leaned — one  forward,  the  other  aft — and  fell;  a 
cigar-shaped  submarine  boat,  swung  high  at  the  for 
ward  derrick,  went  higher  in  air,  and  fell  into  the 
turmoil  beneath ;  while  two  others,  lifted  sidewise  from 
the  shattered  halves  of  the  hull,  whirled  end  over 
end  and  fell  into  the  sea.  Up  and  out  from  this  riot 
of  destructive  forces  came  a  huge  expanding  cloud 
of  black  and  yellow  smoke,  while  over  the  sea,  echo 
ing  and  reverberating  against  the  wooded  shores  of 
the  strait,  went  a  crashing  continuity  of  sound  as  of 
a  repeated  drum-call  of  artillery.  Every  Whitehead 
in  the  hold  had  exploded  separately,  and  when  the 
cloud  had  thinned  there  was  nothing  left  of  the 
mother-ship  but  a  few  floating  fragments  of  wood, 
and,  showing  for  one  instant  before  it  sank,  the 
round  conning-tower  of  a  single  submarine. 

And  now  the  Argyll  received  the  gun-fire  of  the 
three  ships,  one  but  a  mile  below  her,  the  other  two, 
breast  to  breast,  coming  down  the  strait.  The 
cruisers  and  the  scout-boat  were  still  going;  they 
seemed  to  be  agitated,  smoking  hard  from  their 
funnels  and  flying  numerous  small  flags  in  different 
combinations.  But  the  battle-ship  they  had  deserted, 
though  weaker  than  the  Argyll,  steamed  boldly  into 
the  strait,  and,  as  she  was  already  close  enough,  the 
latter  stopped  her  engines  and  drifted  with  the  tide ; 
then  the  two  ships  above  slowed  down,  and,  the 
Argyll  in  the  center,  there  ensued  one  of  the  hammer- 
and-tongs,  give-and-take  conflicts  from  which  the  big 
English  battle-ship  had  ever  emerged  victorious — 
because  no  shell  was  made  that  could  penetrate  her 
eighteen-inch  armor,  and  no  armor  that  could  with 
stand  her  thirteen-inch  shells. 


124?  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

Bronson,  gloomy  of  face,  appeared  in  the  conning- 
tower,  where  the  imperturbable  captain  and  his  aides 
had  taken  refuge  from  the  storm  of  steel.  He  waited 
until  the  captain  had  withdrawn  his  eyes  from  a 
peep-hole,  then  said: 

"  Your  master-at-arms  will  not  confine  me,  cap 
tain." 

"  Are  you  still  pondering  on  the  ethics  of  deser 
tion?  "  asked  the  captain,  again  gluing  his  eye  to  a 
peep-hole. 

"  The  problem  is  unsolvable,"  said  Bronson.  "  By 
the  laws  of  honor  and  of  Russia  I  should  be  fighting 
against  you;  by  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  blood,  I 
should  be  with  you.  There  are  penalties  for  viola 
tion  of  law." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  captain,  without 
looking  around. 

"  I  notice  that  your  fighting-top  batteries  are 
silent." 

The  captain  paid  no  more  attention  to  him,  and 
Bronson  climbed  the  ladder  that  led  up  the  mast  to 
the  lower  top. 

It  is  an  axiom  in  the  world's  navies  that  no  man 
may  live  through  an  action  in  a  fighting-top,  and 
Bronson,  aloft  with  the  dead,  could  not  but  have 
been  impressed  by  the  sight  of  the  fall  of  the  lower 
Russian  ship's  foremasts,  tops,  guns,  dead  men  and 
living,  and  the  small  signal-yard  to  which,  even  as 
the  mast  crashed  down,  small  flags  were  ascending. 
But  the  ship  went  on,  a  man  now  exposed  on  her 
forward  bridge  waving  a  wigwag  back  and  forth 
until  abreast  of  the  Argyll.  And  now,  though  her 
heavy  shells  still  came  toward  the  big,  invulnerable 
Englishman,  it  was  noticeable  that  her  whole  second 
ary  battery  of  quick-fire  and  machine  guns  was  di- 


THE  SUBMARINE  125 

reeled  astern,  at  something  which  only  Bronson,  high 
in  air  with  a  pair  of  service  binoculars,  could  make 
out. 

"  A  submarine !  "  he  called.  "  They're  running 
away  from  it.  Now  it  has  dived." 

Gun-fire  on  the  upper  ships  suddenly  ceased,  and 
the  Argyll's  captain  and  aides  came  out  of  their 
refuge  to  see  these  two,  with  a  furious  turmoil  of 
water  at  their  sterns,  backing  and  turning  in  their 
lengths.  The  wigwag  had  told  the  news. 

"  There  it  is  again !  "  shouted  Bronson,  excitedly. 
"  It's  up  for  a  peep  around.  Now  it's  under  again." 

Professional  excitement  and  enthusiasm  are  excus 
able,  even  when  aroused  over  the  performances  of 
an  enemy.  Bronson,  who  had  gone  aloft  to  die,  had 
a  new  interest  in  life. 

"  The  mother-boat  must  have  dropped  one  some 
where,"  said  the  captain,  "  or  else  it's  the  one  they 
had  hoisted  when  she  blew  up.  Just  in  time,  too," 
he  added  calmly,  as  a  crash  sounded  and  a  quiver 
went  through  the  ship,  while  a  cloud  of  smoke  and 
splinters  went  up  from  the  stern.  A  shell  from  the 
lower  ship  had  struck. 

"  Steering-gear  gone,  sir !  "  called  a  quartermaster 
from  within  the  conning-tower. 

"  Thought  so,"  remarked  the  captain.  "  We're  hit 
in  our  weak  spot.  We're  helpless,  but — praise  God 
for  that  submarine.  Look  at  them  go." 

The  two  backing  and  turning  Russians  had 
straightened  around.  The  other,  still  waving  the 
wigwag  from  her  bridge,  had  passed  them,  and  was 
leading  the  parade.  Behind  was  an  occasional 
glimpse  of  a  small,  circular  conning-tower,  which 
appeared  for  only  an  instant  and  then  dived. 

The  big,  helpless  ship  swung  slowly  around,  steer- 


126  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

ing,  after  a  manner,  with  her  twin  screws,  but  help 
less  to  maneuver.  Yet  her  batteries  were  intact',  and 
she  continued  her  hammering  blows  on  the  fleeing 
ships ;  and  these,  as  they  gathered  way,  resumed  their 
response.  Shot  and  shell  again  crashed  into  her  soft 
spots,  but  the  officers  did  not  again  enter  the  con- 
ning-tower.  They  were  too  interested  in  that  other 
and  smaller  conning-tower.  It  appeared  again  and 
again,  each  time  remaining  longer  in  sight,  and  at 
last  seemed  to  be  approaching  the  Argyll,,  which  had 
swung  end  on  to  it.  Then  it  dived  again,  and 
Bronson,  his  new  interest  in  life  much  stronger, 
came  down  to  the  main-deck  unperceived  in  the 
confusion. 

"  She's  coming,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  wonder  if 
she  fired  a  torpedo." 

"  Don't  think  she  got  near  enough,  sir,"  answered 
one  of  his  lieutenants.  "  But  consider  the  moral 
effect  of  these  boats,  captain.  She  frightened  away 
the  scout-boat  and  the  cruisers.  They  went  away 
signaling." 

"  Yes,  one  such  boat  is  worth  a  whole  fleet  until 
fighting  begins.  She  has  frightened  them  all  away. 
Here  she  is  again." 

The  small  conning-tower  again  arose,  a  hundred 
yards  ahead.  This  time  it  remained  above  water, 
and  they  expected  the  hatch  to  open  and  her  com 
mander's  head  to  appear,  when  their  attention  was 
brought  closer  to  themselves.  A  large  shell  had 
struck  the  foremast  just  below  the  lower  top,  ex 
ploded,  and  sent  the  upper  part  of  the  mast  whirling 
overboard;  the  blast  of  flame  and  smoke  and  the 
sudden  compression  and  expansion  of  the  surround 
ing  cushion  of  air  threw  every  man  on  the  bridge 
upon  his  back. 


THE  SUBMARINE  127 

"  Poor  Bronson !  "  gasped  the  captain.  "  His 
problem  in  ethics  is  settled." 

The  men,  little  hurt,  arose  one  by  one  and  looked, 
some  in  time  to  see  the  hatch  open  in  the  approach 
ing  conning-tower,  others  when  a  man  had  clambered 
out. 

"  Ship  ahoy !  "  yelled  the  man,  standing  knee-deep 
in  the  water  ahead  of  the  ship.  "  Why  d'ye  run 
away  fur?  Hey — ye  brass-bound,  murtherin'  sons 
ov  a  codfish  a-arishtocracy !  Lemme  out  o'  this 
contrapshion.  D'ye  hear  me? — damn  yer  eyes!" 

"  Finnegan ! "  yelled  a  chorus  of  voices  from  gun- 
ports  and  apertures.  And  the  beloved  name  went 
through  the  ship.  Crews  deserted  their  guns  and 
crowded  out  for  a  look  at  him.  He  began  dancing 
about  in  the  water,  shaking  his  fist  and  reviling  his 
officers,  profanely  and  unkindly,  demanding  that  he 
be  taken  on  board  at  once,  and  rebuking  them  for 
their  heartlessness  in  running  away.  Those  on  the 
bridge  were  speechless  at  first,  theji  the  captain 
spoke. 

"  He's  drunk,"  he  said,  an  expression  of  awe  and 
wonder  on  his  smoke-stained  countenance ;  "  and  still 
an  instrument  of  Providence.  But  how  did  he  raise 
that  boat  alone,  and  how  did  he  get  drunk?  " 

As  the  small  submarine  boat  came  abreast,  men 
on  the  main-deck  went  over  after  Finnegan.  Yell 
ing  and  shouting  joyously,  they  pulled  the  profane 
and  abusive  old  man  off  into  deep  water,  and  held 
him  up,  finding  him  at  last  an  inert  and  lifeless  load 
on  their  hands;  then  a  bowline  was  lowered,  and  he 
was  pulled  aboard.  But  in  the  confusion  in  the 
water  no  one  had  noticed  that  one  man  had  climbed 
up  the  submerged  deck  of  the  submarine,  floundered 
along  to  the  tower,  and  entered  it.  It  was  only  when 


128  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

the  noise  of  the  hatch  snapping  down  came  to  their 
ears  and  they  saw  the  small  conning-tower  disappear 
before  their  eyes  that  they  suspected  who  had  en 
tered  the  boat. 

But  as  to  how  Finnegan  had  raised  the  boat  they 
did  not  learn  from  him ;  he  knew  nothing  about  it, 
he  insisted,  when  the  surgeon  had  revived  him. 
Months  later,  the  explanation  came  in  a  letter,  part 
of  which  the  captain  read  to  his  officers. 

"  I  was  released  from  parole,  you  remember,"  said 
the  letter,  "  and  took  a  chance  that  Finnegan  had 
weathered — that's  all.  Five  torpedoes  going  out  did 
not  lighten  her  enough;  but  five  men — nearly  a  thou 
sand  pounds  more — going  out,  did  the  business,  and 
she  must  have  floated  up  with  Finnegan.  He  only 
had  to  start  the  motor,  but  the  water  awash  in  her 
destroyed  her  trim ;  that  is  why  she  dived  so  often. 
He  turned  on  the  oxygen,  too,  and  I  nearly  suffo 
cated  before  I  got  things  straight." 

"  Oxygen,"  murmured  the  surgeon.  "  That's 
what  made  him  drunk." 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN 

fTHHE  United  States  submarine  torpedo-boat  Diver 
A  had  come  to  the  surface  to  blow  out,  to  recharge 
her  storage-battery,  and  to  restore  her  supply  of 
compressed  air  to  its  working  pressure  of  two  thou 
sand  pounds  to  the  square  inch.  The  first  two  were 
accomplished,  but,  there  being  something  wrong  with 
the  air-compressor  motor,  the  last  was  delayed  while 
a  machinist  and  two  electricians  swore  over  it — or 
under  it,  for  it  was  at  arm's-length  overhead — and 
the  boat,  in  the  awash  or  diving  condition,  ran  along 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  129 

under  her  gasoline  engine.  Breen,  temporary  com 
mander,  raised  his  boyish  face  up  through  the  con- 
ning-tower  hatch,  the  hinged  lid  of  which  was  held 
upright  by  a  strong  spring,  and  looked  around  at  the 
night.  It  was  pitch  dark  and  starless,  but,  over 
to  the  east,  the  upper  limb  of  a  full  moon  was 
just  appearing  above  the  horizon.  The  hinged 
lid  of  the  hatch  prevented  a  view  astern;  the 
engine  exhaust  drowned  the  lesser  sounds  of  the 
sea. 

A  curious,  rushing  sound  mingled  with  the  puffing 
of  the  exhaust,  a  voice  high  above  and  astern  sang 
out,  "  Something  under  the  bow,  sir !  "  and  a  huge 
bulk  of  blacker  darkness  struck  the  small,  semi- 
submerged  craft  a  glancing  blow  from  astern,  heeled 
it  a  little,  and  bore  it  under.  Breen  was  washed 
downward  by  the  inrush  of  water,  but  held  a  grip 
on  the  conning-tower  ladder,  and  found  voice  to  call 
out:  "  Stop  the  engine !  Shut  off  the  gas  !  "  Then, 
against  that  almost  solid  column  of  descending  salt 
water,  he  fought  his  way  upward  until,  face  above 
the  hatch  again,  but  looking  now  into  the  blackness 
of  the  deep  sea,  he  seized  the  hand-hold  of  the  hatch- 
lid  and  pulled  it  down.  It  closed  with  a  force  that 
would  have  shivered  anything  but  armor  steel,  and 
Breen,  half  drowned,  fell  to  the  floor  of  the  handling- 
room.  As  he  raised  himself  he  could  hear  faintly, 
through  the  steel  walls  from  the  void  without,  the 
lessening  pulsations  of  a  steamer's  screw. 

"  Run  down  i "  he  gasped,  choking  the  water  from 
his  lungs  and  supporting  himself  by  the  ladder,  for 
the  boat  was  rolling  twenty  degrees.  "  Anything 
carried  away?  " 

"  Seems  not,  lieutenant,"  answered  the  chief-elec 
trician — "  nothing  but  the  auxiliary  motor.  I've 


130  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

burned  it  out — had  my  hand  on  the  switch  when  the 
jar  came.  But  we're  sinking,  sir." 

"  We've  taken  in  more  than  the  reserve  buoyancy, 
surely,"  said  Breen,  looking  at  the  depth-indicator, 
which  already  marked  forty  feet.  The  hand  moved, 
as  he  looked,  to  fifty,  sixty — and  more. 

"  Blow  out  every  tank !  "  he  ordered. 

The  ballast  and  trimming  tanks  were  emptied,  and 
the  scant  store  of  compressed  air  was  further  lessened 
thereby ;  but,  though  the  indicator  hand  moved  more 
slowly,  it  moved  as  steadily  and  as  surely.  The  boat 
was  still  sinking. 

"  Start  the  motor  and  connect  up  the  pumps !  " 
said  Breen.  "  What  am  I  thinking  about — wasting 
time  and  air  over  tanks  with  all  this  water  washing 
about?" 

"  Can't,  sir,"  answered  a  machinist  from  the 
neighborhood  of  the  engine.  "  The  motor's 
soaked  through.  A  lot  came  down  the  air-pipe 
'fore  I  could  close  it,  and  all  the  rest  has  come 
aft,  too." 

Breen  looked,  and  became  thoughtful  of  face.  The 
depressed  engine  compartment  now  held  the  water 
taken  in,  and  the  lower  half  of  the  armature  was 
immersed.  A  sunken  submarine,  with  main  motor 
short-circuited  by  water  and  auxiliary  motor  burned 
out,  without  means  to  pump,  to  move,  or  to  compress 
air  for  power,  is  in  a  serious  plight.  But  Breen's 
face  cleared  in  a  moment. 

"Man  the  hand-pump!"  he  said.  "My  God!" 
he  added,  in  a  semi-whisper  as  he  glanced  at  the  indi 
cator.  It  marked  one  hundred ! 

As  many  men  as  could  find  room  for  their  hands 
on  the  pump-brake  put  forth  their  strength,  but 
could  force  very  little  water  out  against  the  pressure 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  131 

of  the  sea.  They  looked  at  Breen,  doubt  and  anxiety 
showing  in  their  faces. 

"  Out  with  the  torpedoes ! "  he  said,  bravely  and 
cheerfully.  "  We  had  a  reserve  buoyancy  of  three 
hundred,  and  we're  carrying  several  thousand  pounds 
of  steel  and  gun-cotton  that  we  won't  need  right 
away.  Disconnect  the  levers  and  unscrew  the  deto 
nator  ! " 

Whitehead  torpedoes — mechanical  fish — are  merely 
aimed  and  started  by  the  craft  that  carries  them. 
They  propel  themselves  by  their  own  motive  power, 
steer  themselves  in  the  direction  originally  pointed, 
and — at  an  under-water  depth  automatically  chosen 
— if  they  hit  nothing  within  a  practical  radius, 
lock  their  engines  and  rise  by  a  reserve  buoyancy 
to  float  and  be  recovered.  Breen's  last  order  car 
ried  a  meaning  to  these  men  that  was  reflected  back 
in  their  pale  faces  as  they  removed  the  starting- 
levers  and  the  small  fan-wheel  which,  by  the  tor 
pedo's  motion,  would  bring  the  detonator  into  action. 
"  Any  port  in  a  storm,"  muttered  one.  "  They're 
good  life-buoys  on  a  pinch."  They  withdrew  the 
Whitehead  always  carried  in  the  tube,  prepared 
it  like  the  others,  inserted  it,  and  closed  the  breech ; 
then,  opening  the  bow  port,  they  turned  on  the  com 
pressed  air,  and  a  cough,  a  thud,  and  an  inrush  of 
water  testified  that  the  torpedo  was  out.  They  blew 
out  the  tube,  closed  the  port,  opened  the  breech,  and 
hauled  forward  another  torpedo,  while  Breen  studied 
the  depth-indicator. 

"  One  hundred  and  ten,"  he  called,  "  and  still  sink 
ing  !  Out  with  them  all,  quickly !  " 

The  sinking  boat  was  now  slightly  "  by  the  stern  " 
from  the  expenditure  of  the  water  that  had  replaced 
the  torpedo,  which  water  is,  under  normal  condi- 


132  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

tions,  retained  in  a  tank  and  shifted  aft  to  others  as 
torpedoes  are  hauled  forward,  in  order  to  maintain 
the  horizontal  trim  of  the  boat ;  but  they  were  ex 
pending  weights  now,  and  it  mattered  not  if  the  boat 
stood  on  her  tail  for  a  time,  provided  she  floated. 
She  did  give  promise  of  the  erect  attitude,  reaching 
an  angle  of  ten  degrees  with  the  release  of  the  third 
torpedo;  but  at  this  moment  there  was  a  shock  and 
a  shudder  through  the  steel  hull,  then  a  bumping, 
scraping  sound. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  Breen.  "  We've  reached  the 
bottom,  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  down.  Three 
hundred  and  fifty's  the  crushing-point." 

"  But  we're  scraping  along  with  the  tide,  sir,"  an 
swered  one  of  the  men,  "  and  we  may  go  deeper." 

"  Then  we'll  find  the  torpedoes  right  above  us," 
said  Breen,  promptly.  "  Out  with  the  other  two." 

Out  they  went,  one  after  the  other,  and  after  them 
the  water  in  the  tube.  The  boat  lifted  her  bow  to 
an  angle  of  twenty-five  degrees,  but  the  scraping  and 
bumping  of  the  propeller-guard  on  the  bottom  con 
tinued,  and  the  depth-indicator  told  them  that  she 
was  now  one  hundred  and  thirty  feet  below  the  sur 
face,  and  dragging  down-hill.  The  men  at  the  hand- 
pump  quit  the  fruitless  labor  and  joined  them.  They 
looked  into  one  another's  pale  faces.  Only  Breen's 
showed  decision. 

"  Draw  lots,"  he  said,  bringing  forth  a  box  of 
matches  from  his  pocket,  "  as  to  who  goes  first." 

"  You  mean  last,  sir,  don't  you  ?  "  asked  the  en 
gineer.  "  It  makes  no  difference  who  goes  first  on 
the  chance  of  swimming  up  over  a  hundred  feet  to 
find  a  torpedo  at  night;  but  some  one  must  remain 
to  fire  out  the  last  man,  sir." 

"  I  remain,"  said  Breen.     "  No  arguments  about 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  133 

this.  I  am  the  commander,  and  should  have  kept  a 
better  lookout." 

"  But,  lieutenant,"  said  the  other  engineer,  "  can't 
we  shoot  the  boat  up  on  a  slant  by  the  engine?  The 
sparkers  are  out  of  water." 

"  The  conning-tower  hatch  would  still  be  under 
water,  and  we  would  be  far  away  from  the  torpedoes. 
They  are  now  right  above  us.  We  know  that  much. 
Who  goes  first,  now?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  one  of  the  trimming-tank  men. 
"  But,  lieutenant,"  he  added,  "  we  can  swim  up  in 
two  minutes,  I  should  think,  and  I've  held  my 
breath  three ;  but  how'll  we  know  which  way  to  swim? 
It's  night  up  there.  We  can't  see." 

"  If  your  head  and  stomach  don't  tell  you,  let  your 
knife  hang  loose  by  the  lanyard.  It'll  hang  down. 
Swim  parallel.  Hold  on.  Keep  your  shoes  on  " — 
the  man  was  shedding  them — "  take  all  weights  out 
that  you  can.  Put  your  coats  on,  all  of  you.  It's 
a  cold  night  up  above.  You'll  need  your  coats  riding 
a  torpedo." 

"  Good-by,  sir.  Good-by,  boys — all  'round.  No 
time  to  shake  hands.  If  I  find  a  Whitehead,  I'll  keep 
singin'  out." 

He  threw  open  the  breech  of  the  tube  and  crawled 
in.  A  man  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  compressed- 
air  valve;  another  stood  by  the  bow-port  lever; 
Breen  himself  was  at  the  breech. 

"  Take  a  good  breath  when  you  hear  the  breech 
closed,"  he  called  in,  and  was  answered.  Then  he 
slammed  to  the  swinging  breech-door,  locked  it,  and 
waved  his  hand  to  his  men.  They  knew  the  drill. 
Water  was  admitted  at  once,  the  bow  port  was  lifted, 
compressed  air  was  turned  on,  there  was  the  usual 
cough  and  thud  and  inrush  of  water,  and  a  man 


134  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

under  a  pressure  of  four  atmospheres  was  swimming, 
somewhere,  through  water  black  as  night,  guided 
only  by  his  knife  lanyard  or  the  feel  of  his  head  and 
stomach. 

The  tube  was  blown  out  and  another  man  said 
good-by  and  crawled  in.  He  was  ejected.  Then 
the  performance  was  repeated  again  and  again,  while 
Breen  watched  the  dials  that  told  of  depth  and  in 
clination,  and  listened  for  a  cessation  of  the  scraping 
sound  of  the  propeller-guard.  There  was  none,  and 
both  inclination  and  depth  registers  showed  increase. 

He  himself  ejected  the  last  man,  and  stood  up, 
alone,  in  a  boat  one  hundred  and  forty  feet  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  sea,  her  bow  lifted  to  an  angle  of 
thirty  degrees  from  the  horizontal,  her  main  motor 
drowned  and  her  auxiliary  motor  burned.  There 
was  one  chance  in  a  million  that  he  would  be  rescued ; 
but,  as  he  stood  on  the  slanting  floor  of  the  handling- 
room,  the  hope  of  this  one  chance  came  to  him,  for 
the  scraping  and  bumping  had  ceased. 

He  looked  at  the  depth-indicator  and  waited.  No ; 
she  was  not  rising  from  the  expenditure  of  weights, 
as  he  had  hoped  for  a  moment;  the  propeller-guard 
must  have  caught  on  some  projection  on  the  bottom, 
and  was  holding  her  from  drifting  farther  with  the 
tide.  This  was  proved  to  him  by  a  new  and  faint 
sound  coming  through  the  steel  walls  of  his  coffin — 
the  sound  of  rustling  water  passing  by.  But  it  soon 
gave  way  to  the  bumping  and  scraping;  and  when, 
two  hours  later,  this  grew  fainter  and  finally  ceased, 
and  he  again  looked  at  the  depth-indicator,  he  saw 
a  reading  of  three  hundred.  He  was  fifty  fathoms 
below  the  surface. 

Breen's  emotions  for  the  next  few  hours  need  not 
be  recorded.  They  were  mainly  concerned  with  that 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  135 

one  chance  in  a  million,  and  ended  in  prayer;  but 
following  the  prayer  came  the  much  used  and  abused, 
homely  but  practical,  reflection  that  the  Lord  helps 
those  who  help  themselves,  and  he  arose  from  the 
floor  where  he  had  thrown  himself  and  looked  around 
— first,  at  the  air-pressure  indicators.  All  but  two 
registered  at  zero ;  he  had  two  tanks  at  two  thousand 
pounds  pressure,  and  he  could  have  blown  out  a  few 
more  torpedoes,  or  men,  or  tanks  of  water,  but  not 
that  water  washing  about  aft.  He  thought  of  the 
storage-battery  beneath  the  flooring — ninety  large 
jars  of  sulphuric  acid,  in  danger  from  contact  with 
that  washing  salt  water — and,  removing  the  hatch, 
inspected  it.  He  found  that  the  last  jars  aft  lifted 
six  inches  above  the  water-level,  and,  knowing  that 
they  were  designed  for  an  inclination  of  forty-five 
degrees,  was  reassured  on  this  point.  Salt  water 
and  sulphuric  acid  are  a  bad  combination  in  a  closed 
compartment ;  and  his  air  was  already  bad  enough 
from  the  fumes  of  smoking  insulation  and  the  leakage 
of  gasoline  from  the  engine. 

He  looked  at  the  burned-out  motor  overhead  in 
the  handling-room.  It  worked  the  air-compressor 
and  one  of  the  bilge-pumps,  the  other  being  con 
nected  to  the  main  motor,  under  water  and  equally 
useless.  He  had  a  naval  officer's  knowledge  of  elec 
tricity  and  motors,  acquired  at  Annapolis,  and  this 
told  him  that  it  would  be  hopeless,  even  for  an  expert 
mechanic,  to  attempt  rewinding  that  small  motor 
with  the  dried-out  wires  of  the  other.  He  studied 
the  main  motor,  nearly  buried  in  water.  When  dry 
it  worked  with  seventy  horse-power.  It  would  pump 
out,  against  the  pressure  of  the  sea,  the  water  that 
kept  the  boat  down.  If  clear  of  this  water  it  would 
dry  out — in  time.  In  what  time?  Breen  had  fifteen 


136  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

days'  supply  of  food  and  water  for  a  crew  of  eight 
— one  hundred  and  twenty  days'  supply  for  himself. 
His  air-supply  was  short,  but — suffocation  is  a  long 
death. 

The  lower  part  of  the  armature  and  fully  half  the 
height  of  the  field  magnets  were  still  immersed.  He 
needed  more  weight  forward  or  less  aft;  and  as  his 
eye  roved  about  the  maze  of  fixtures — pipes,  valves, 
and  machinery — it  rested  upon  the  useless  gasoline- 
engine — a  two-thousand-pound  weight.  Removing 
his  coat,  he  first  made  sure  that  the  gas-feed  valve 
was  screwed  tight,  then,  delving  for  wrenches,  span 
ners,  and  hammers  in  the  engineer's  locker,  attacked 
the  engine.  He  was  working  for  life,  and  such  work 
is  exhilarating  for  a  time.  Breen  sang  while  he 
worked. 

Two  weeks  later  he  was  not  singing.  His  clothing 
a  greasy  envelope  of  rags  and  shreds,  his  face  hag 
gard,  his  eyes  sunken  from  too  close  looking  into  the 
eyes  of  death,  he  dragged  forward  writh  bleeding 
hands  the  connecting-rod  of  the  after-cylinder,  and 
piled  up  a  scrap-heap  of  similar  fragments  beside  the 
torpedo-tube  in  the  bow.  The  engine  was  stripped 
to  the  supporting  column  that  bore  the  weight  of 
the  motor  and  the  pump,  and  the  boat  was  not  yet 
on  an  even  keel;  but  the  last  lower  coil  of  the  field- 
magnet  was  lifted  from  the  water  by  the  shifting  of 
the  weight,  and  when  he  had  cleared  the  storage- 
battery  wires  from  all  contact  with  water  he  re 
warded  himself  with  a  few  deep  inhalations  from  his 
nearly  exhausted  compressed-air  supply,  and  sat 
down  to  wait — until  the  insulation  was  dry. 

Being  a  government  officer,  not  yet  relieved  from 
duty,  he  had  kept  the  log,  and  knew  the  flight  of 
time  by  this  and  the  clock ;  and  in  another  week  he 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  137 

realized  with  sinking  heart  that  the  motor  was  not 
drying  out.  A  little  reflection  told  him  why:  in  the 
sealed-up  hull  the  atmosphere  was  saturated  with 
moisture,  and  no  more  evaporation  could  take  place. 
In  a  fit  of  utter  and  suicidal  desperation  he  turned 
on  the  last  few  pounds  of  his  air-supply  and  lay  down, 
weary  of  work,  weary  of  thought,  hoping  now,  if 
death  would  not  come  speedily,  that  unconsciousness 
would — that  he  might  at  least  be  relieved  of  the 
torture  of  headache  that  now  afflicted  him.  And  un 
consciousness  came,  in  the  form  of  sweet,  refresh 
ing  sleep,  brought  on  by  the  suicidal  extravagance  in 
air.  And  when  he  wakened  there  was  a  thought,  or 
the  remnant  of  one,  a  lingering  survival  of  some 
thing  he  had  dreamed — a  phrase  repeating  itself,  and 
dwindling  away,  as  the  details  of  valve  and  piping 
took  form  before  his  eyes.  It  was  of  gases,  this 
thought — of  a  drying  agent  for  gases — something  he 
had  studied  years  ago  at  school.  A  drying  agent 
for  gases?  What  was  it?  Then  it  came  to  him  out 
of  the  forgotten  chemistry  in  his  subconscious  mind: 
"  Sulphuric  acid." 

He  had  ninety  jars  of  it  under  his  feet.  He  had 
lead  and  copper  piping  in  his  scrap-heap  forward. 
He  had  two  electric  fans  used  for  ventilation  on  the 
surface,  and  a  blower,  fixed  in  the  air-pipe,  but 
available  on  a  pinch — all  four  wired  and  ready, 
with  a  thirty-six-hundred-ampere-hour  battery  to 
drive  them.  Wild  with  hope,  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  went  to  work.  In  three  hours  he  had  constructed 
from  the  back  of  his  coat  a  cone-shaped  funnel  that 
stretched  around  the  wire  guard  of  a  fan-wheel; 
and  this  he  fitted  onto  the  end  of  a  length  of  lead 
pipe,  the  other  end  of  which  was  all  but  immersed  in 
the  acid  of  a  battery  jar  in  the  hold.  With  the  fan 


138  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

buzzing  and  blowing  into  this  funnel,  and  a  stream 
of  air  ruffling  the  surface  of  the  acid,  he  yet  went  on 
contriving;  and  with  another  fan,  unscrewed  from  its 
shelf  and  rewired  to  a  new  location,  he  caught  this 
dried  air  as  it  rose  and  drove  it  aft  over  the  motor. 
Smiling  like  a  child  with  a  toy,  Breen  sat  down  and 
watched  it,  his  mind  intent  upon  chemistry,  that  he 
once  had  hated,  that  he  had  so  completely  forgotten. 

The  air  was  again  very  bad ;  his  head  was  aching 
as  it  had  ached  before,  and  he  needed  no  clear  recol 
lection  of  the  forgotten  science  to  know  that  the 
dominant  irritant  was  the  carbonic-acid  gas  from  his 
lungs.  How  to  purify  the  air  he  did  not  know.  This 
boat  was  not  equipped  with  the  apparatus  for  such 
purpose  that  he  had  read  of  in  plans  and  specifica 
tions,  and  all  the  chemistry  that  would  come  to  him 
was  the  old,  familiar  class-room  test  for  carbonic- 
acid  gas,  or — as  he  liked  to  call  it  now,  with  his  mind 
on  chemistry — carbon  dioxide.  This  testing  reagent 
was  lime-water,  but  the  chemical  term  for  it  was  be 
yond  him.  He  went  to  sleep  at  last,  thinking  of 
lime-water — lime-water,  and  the  chemical  name  for  it. 

As  he  slept,  fitfully,  with  intervals  of  half-waking 
thought,  chemical  terms,  long  forgotten  and  bearing 
no  seeming  relation  to  lime-water,  ran  jumblingly 
through  his  head — potassium  chlorate,  manganese 
dioxide,  chloride  of  sodium,  chlorhydric  acid.  These 
persisted  through  the  jumble,  and  remained  when 
he  had  wakened.  He  repeated  and  remembered 
them.  But  what  had  they  to  do  with  lime-water? 
Nothing,  that  he  could  remember.  Chloride  of  so 
dium  was  common  salt,  he  knew,  and  he  had  plenty 
of  it,  dissolved  in  water — more  than  he  wanted. 
Chlorhydric  acid — hydrochloric  acid — muriatic  acid 
— an  acid  containing  no  oxygen,  the  one  gas  that  he 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  139 

needed  so  badly — formed  of  hydrogen  and  chloric — 
chloride,  chlorine  gas.  Good,  so  far.  Chlorine — also 
a  constituent  of  the  salt  in  his  bilge-water.  But  what 
of  it?  It  was  oxygen  that  he  wanted.  Potassium 
chlorate — chlorate  of  potassium.  This  contained 
chlorine.  Manganese  dioxide  contained  oxygen;  but 
what  did  it  mean?  Why  should  these  elements  and 
compounds  come  to  his  mind?  He  had  something 
of  blind  faith  in  the  relevancy  of  thought,  but  he 
wanted  to  know  only  of  lime-water,  with  which  he 
could  catch  the  carbon  dioxide  in  the  air  and  free 
the  oxygen.  This  last  thought  was  an  advance,  but 
he  could  go  no  further  in  this  direction.  His  mind 
returned  to  chlorhydric  acid,  to  hydrogen,  to 
chlorine.  How  were  they  made  ?  They  were  all  there 
— in  his  sea-water.  But  why  these  persisting 
thoughts?  His  waking  thought  of  sulphuric  acid  as 
a  drying  agent  meant  something.  Did  it  mean  more  ? 
Sulphuric  acid,  one  of  the  most  powerful  chemical 
reagents  known — the  most  powerful  electrolyte — 
electro — electrolysis — "  Hurrah !  " 

He  bounded  to  his  feet.  He  had  it.  Electrolysis 
of  water  yielded  oxygen  and  hydrogen.  But  why 
had  manganese  dioxide  and  potassium  chlorate  so 
persisted  in  his  mind?  And  lime-water — what  had 
that  to  do  with  his  problem,  now  solved  by  elec 
trolysis? 

Slowly  the  memory  of  school-day  lessons  learned 
by  rote  filtered  up  from  the  past — of  the  test-tube 
manufactured  of  oxygen  by  the  union  of  these  chem 
icals  in  the  presence  of  heat.  And  lime-water,  with 
its  affinity  for  carbon  dioxide?  There  was  no  lime 
on  board,  hence  no  lime-water.  But  there  was  water 
— too  much.  Where  was  the  affinity?  It  was  slower 
in  coming,  but  it  came — the  old  lessons  learned  by 


140  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

rote  and  forgotten.  "  Carbon  dioxide  is  soluble  in 
water,  volume  for  volume."  "  Oxygen  is  but  slightly 
soluble  in  water — about  three  parts  in  a  hundred." 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said,  with  the  infantile  smile 
that  had  come  to  his  boy's  face  in  this  trouble.  "  It's 
the  subliminal  self  that  remembers  everything;  and 
when  you've  guessed  all  around  the  subject  it  pops 
out  and  hits  you  when  you've  touched  it." 

He  found  some  spare  insulated  wire  among  the 
stores,  and  rigged  two  lengths  from  the  poles  of  the 
battery,  scraping  the  ends  and  immersing  them  in 
the  salt  water.  A  few  bubbles  arose,  then  ceased. 

"  Funny  how  things  come  back  when  you  need 
them,"  he  said,  as  he  pulled  up  the  wires.  "  I  want 
platinum  electrodes  and  solder  and  soldering  fluid — 
chloride  of  zinc — zinc  cut  by  hydrochloric  acid. 
Wonder  if  I'll  have  to  make  my  acid?  " 

He  did  not.  He  found  a  soldering  outfit  in  the 
locker,  then  rummaged  his  scrap-heap  forward  for 
platinum  sparkers,  and,  finding  very  little  of  the 
precious  metal,  ruthlessly  smashed  all  but  three  of  the 
electric  bulbs  that  lighted  his  prison,  robbing  them 
of  the  platinum  wires  that  led  the  current  into  the 
carbons. 

Clumsily — for  he  was  but  a  theoretical  mechanic 
— he  soldered  the  ends  of  the  platinum  wires  and 
fragments  to  the  copper  ends  of  his  terminals,  about 
half  to  each,  making  brush-like  electrodes  of  the 
largest  possible  surface-exposure.  Then  he  immersed 
them,  and  was  gratified  at  the  result.  Bubbles  arose 
in  generous  quantity. 

"  Now,  which  is  which?  "  he  said,  as  he  leaned  over 
them.  "  Let's  think.  Water — hydrogen  and  oxy 
gen — H20 — two  parts  hydrogen  to  one  of  oxygen. 
But  the  bubbles  seem  about  the  same  size." 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  141 

He  stopped  and  inhaled  deeply  of  the  air  over  one 
column  of  bursting  bubbles;  a  little  of  this  brought 
on  a  curious  feeling  of  faintness,  with  a  desire  to 
draw  a  longer  breath. 

"  Hydrogen,  surely,"  he  said.     "  Now  the  other." 

A  half-inhalation  over  the  other  bubbles  sent  him 
back,  coughing  and  choking,  with  a  bitter,  astringent 
taste  in  his  throat. 

"  No,"  he  said,  as  he  pulled  up  the  wire.  "  That 
is  not  oxygen.  It's  some  other  gas.  I  must  sep 
arate  them,  somehow." 

He  racked  his  brains  for  the  rest  of  the  day — until 
his  clock  told  him  that  sleeping-time  had  arrived — 
but  could  not  remember  more  of  his  chemistry.  He 
could  only  fix  in  his  mind  a  few  chemical  facts  not 
forgotten :  that  he  was  using  up  the  existing  oxygen 
by  combining  it,  in  his  lungs,  with  carbon  to  form 
carbon  dioxide,  ten  per  cent,  of  which,  in  the  air, 
might  be  fatal;  that  the  hydrogen  which  he  would 
make,  with  his  oxygen,  was  non-poisonous,  like  the 
nitrogen  of  the  air,  but  that,  there  being  less  of  it  as 
a  diluent,  he  might  suffer  from  a  preponderance  of 
oxygen ;  and  that  this  astringent  gas  that  would  also 
evolve  from  the  salt  water  was  a  deadly  poison  to 
be  got  rid  of.  But  how?  Was  it  carbon  dioxide? 
He  did  not  need  to  sleep  on  the  problem ;  he  had  al 
ready  slept  upon  and  solved  it.  It  came  to  him  sud 
denly  in  the  formulated  sentences  of  the  morning. 
Water  would  absorb  carbon  dioxide,  volume  for 
volume,  while  oxygen  would  only  give  up  three  parts 
to  a  hundred. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am !  "  he  muttered.  "  I  can  simply 
blow  the  whole  mixture  back  into  the  water  again 
and  again,  and  get  rid  of  everything  but  the  oxygen 
and  hydrogen." 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

The  motor  was  dryer  to  the  touch,  but  still  much 
too  damp  for  use ;  so,  for  the  present,  he  left  his  air- 
drying  apparatus  intact,  and  constructed  a  supple 
mentary  pneumatic  feed  system  that  would  have 
scandalized  a  mechanical  or  electrical  engineer,  but 
was  a  triumph  of  driven  genius  to  poor  Breen,  dying 
of  headache  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

First,  he  reversed  the  polarity  of  the  fixed  blower 
in  the  air-pipe  overhead,  so  that  it  worked  down 
ward;  then  he  propped  up  and  secured  a  section  of 
gas  feed-piping  that  would  catch  the  mixed  bubbles 
as  they  burst,  and  deliver  the  mixture  to  this  blower. 
Below  this  fan  he  suspended  a  fairly  air-tight  funnel 
formed  of  the  seat  and  one  leg  of  his  trousers,  and 
to  the  funnel  secured  another  length  of  copper  pip 
ing,  the  lower  end  of  which  he  hammered  flat,  so  that 
it  would  spread  the  flow  of  gases  to  a  fan-shaped 
stream  conducive  to  a  large  number  of  smaller  bub 
bles.  This  end  he  immersed  in  the  deepest  part  of 
the  flooded  engine-room,  sacrificed  his  shirt  to  form 
a  hood  over  the  bubbles  that  would  rise,  and  under 
this  hood  arranged  his  original  funnel  and  fan  that 
drove  air  through  the  lead  pipe  to  the  sulphuric  acid. 
He  had  contrived  an  apparatus  to  manufacture  two 
volumes  of  hydrogen  to  one  volume  of  oxygen,  with 
an  unknown  quantity  of  poisonous  gas — that  would 
suck  into  itself  the  foul  air  of  the  closed  hull  and 
drive  it,  with  the  mixed  gases,  in  a  divided  stream 
into  the  purifying  water — and  that  would  force  the 
oxygen  which  arose  onto  the  drying  sulphuric  acid, 
to  be  then  sent  back  over  the  damp  motor.  Arrang 
ing  his  battery  wires  in  the  water,  he  turned  on  all 
the  fans  and  tested  the  result  by  his  sense  of  smell. 
There  was  but  the  slightest  bad  odor  in  the  blast 
from  the  last  fan — not  enough  to  distress  him;  and, 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  143 

utterly  tired  out,  Breen  went  to  sleep  as  happy  as 
a  man  may  be  on  the  cold  sea-bottom  without  shirt 
or  trousers  and  barely  reprieved  from  lingering 
death. 

When  he  awakened,  his  fans  still  buzzed  merrily, 
his  headache  was  gone,  and  the  motor  much  dryer 
to  the  touch.  His  problem  seemed  to  have  been 
solved,  for  there  were  no  more  chemical  terms  or 
"  guesses  "  remaining  from  his  sleep.  Yet,  as  he  felt 
of  the  damp  motor  and  noticed  the  hydrogen  bub 
bles  rising  and  escaping  into  the  air  without  going 
through  the  drying  process,  he  felt,  and  obeyed,  a 
strong  impulse  to  turn  them  into  the  pipe  that  caught 
the  others. 

"  Can't  do  any  harm  to  dry  the  hydrogen,"  he 
mused ;  "  and  it  would  mix  with  the  oxygen  later,  in 
any  case,  while  the  water  won't  absorb  it — only  the 
carbon  dioxide." 

A  few  moments  later  he  noticed  an  utter  absence 
of  the  bad  odor  in  the  blast  from  the  acid  to  the 
motor,  and  felt  only  a  slight  increment  of  gratifica 
tion.  It  was  long  after,  with  a  larger  experience  of 
and  dependence  upon  the  infallibility  of  subliminal 
promptings  that  he  realized  that  it  was  not  to  dry 
the  hydrogen  that  he  had  turned  it  into  his  pipes. 

From  this  on  his  problems  were  mechanical ;  he 
was  interested  in  the  rapidly  drying  motor  and  its 
potencies  when  he  dared  turn  the  current  into  it. 
He  realized  these  potencies — he  knew  that  the  sev 
enty-horse-power  motor  could  pump  out  the  water 
and  bring  her  to  the  surface ;  but  knowing,  too,  that 
under  the  coils  moisture  would  remain  long  after  the 
surface  windings  were  dry,  and  that  a  short-circuit 
ing  of  coils  might  rack  the  insulation  to  pieces  by 
the  formation  of  steam,  he  waited  a  full  week  after 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

the  last  dampness  had  apparently  gone;  then,  un 
coupling  the  motor  from  the  shaft  and  turning  on  the 
switch,  he  carefully  moved  the  controller  and  gave  it 
momentary  contact.  A  thin  cloud  arose  from  the 
motor  and  the  armature  moved  an  inch.  He  in 
spected  the  cloud ;  it  seemed  to  be  steam,  not  smoke, 
and  he  tried  it  again  with  longer  contact.  The 
armature  moved  farther,  and  again  he  shut  off  the 
current,  assured  himself  that  there  was  no  burning, 
and  turned  it  on.  This  time  he  left  it  on,  and  stood 
over  the  motor,  watching  the  steaming  armature 
slowly  turn  at  about  the  rate  of  a  steamboat's  pad 
dle-wheel,  while  the  commutator  brushes  threw  out 
sparkings  six  inches  long.  His  theoretical  knowledge 
of  electricity  told  him  that  these  sparks  indicated 
a  waste  of  current ;  and  he  noticed  that  when  his 
body  interposed  between  the  motor  and  the  blast  of 
dried  air  from  the  last  fan  in  his  system  the  sparks 
were  reduced  to  minute  points,  hardly  visible.  With 
nothing  to  do  now  until  his  motor  gained  power 
enough  to  pump,  he  busied  himself  in  constructing 
a  hood  that  would  enclose  the  commutator  and 
brushes,  using  his  undershirt  for  material  and  singing 
as  he  worked.  A  man  may  be  joyful  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,  shivering  with  cold  in  one  garment,  pro 
vided  he  is  hopeful.  And  Breen  was  hopeful;  his 
hood  was  a  success ;  it  stopped  the  extravagant 
sparking,  but  did  not  save  enough  current  to  work 
the  pump,  which  fact  he  learned  by  connecting  it. 
The  armature  moved  faster,  but  stopped  short 
against  the  small  resistance  of  the  inert  water  in  the 
induction-pipe.  So  he  turned  off  the  current,  over 
hauled  and  lubricated  the  pump,  and  waited. 

He  was  very  happy  now,  singing  and  talking  to 
himself,  while  his  heart  beat  a  thumping  accompani- 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  145 

ment  to  the  music,  and  the  steel  walls  of  his  sunken 
prison  rang  with  his  words,  delivered  in  shouts. 
He  was  not  in  the  least  cast  down  when  two  of  his 
lights  burned  out,  and  he  danced  forward  in  rag 
time  step,  secured  the  remaining  bulb,  and  danced 
aft  with  it,  adjusting  it  just  forward  of  the  motor, 
where  it  would  illumine  his  system  of  buzzing  fans 
and  bursting  bubbles. 

He  did  not  enter  up  the  log  this  day,  nor  keep 
further  track  of  the  passage  of  time,  being  too  lofty 
of  soul  to  concern  himself  with  such  trifles ;  nor  did 
he  go  to  sleep  when  the  time  for  it  came  around. 
Who  would  sleep  with  a  seventy-horse-power  motor 
dying  out  and  needing  attention,  with  a  beautiful 
plant  manufacturing,  purifying,  and  drying  air — 
sweet,  cool  air,  to  be  breathed  by  himself,  and  no 
other?  How  pleasant  it  felt  to  his  burning  face  and 
tingling  fingers  when  he  placed  himself  in  its  way! 
The  world  above,  with  its  millions  of  men,  had  mil 
lions  of  cubic  miles  of  air  to  breathe  no  better  than 
his,  that  he  had  made  for  himself.  This  thought 
so  pleased  him  that  he  put  it  to  rhyme,  and  sang  it 
to  the  steel  walls  in  the  voice  of  a  boatswain's  mate  in 
bad  weather.  Louder  he  sang,  and  louder,  until  the 
music  went  out  of  his  voice  and  left  it  a  screech. 

There  were  a  few  hours  of  this,  when  he  fell  down 
near  the  motor  and  lay  there. 

Years  later,  as  it  seemed,  he  awakened  in  pitch- 
black  darkness,  with  an  irritating,  pungent  odor  in 
his  nostrils,  a  burning  sensation  in  his  throat,  a 
clattering,  rushing,  roaring  sound  in  his  ears,  and  a 
pain  in  his  head  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before. 
Only  one  sensation  could  he  place — the  odor  in  his 
nostrils,  the  astringent  action  that  he  knew  so  well. 
Then  his  position  and  plight  came  back  to  him  by 


146  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

degrees.  His  last  light  had  burned  out.  His  air- 
plant  was  still  working,  but  the  poisonous  gas  was 
escaping.  Ho  wand  why? 

He  reached  out,  felt  the  supporting  column  of  the 
engine,  and  located  himself;  then  he  crawled  to  the 
different  parts  of  his  pipe-and-fan  system,  inspecting 
them  by  the  sense  of  touch.  Everything  was  as  he 
had  left  it — the  wires  still  fed  bubbles  into  the  pipe 
to  the  upper  fan,  the  last  fan  still  caught  the  air  as 
it  rose  from  the  acid  and  sent  it  over  the  motor. 
Perhaps  the  motor  would  now  work  the  pump.  He 
found  the  switch  and  controller  in  the  darkness, 
turned  on  the  current,  and  felt  his  way  back.  The 
armature  was  turning — just  a  little  faster  than  be 
fore.  Shutting  off  the  current,  he  coupled  on  the 
pump,  and  again  gave  power  to  the  motor,  only  to 
find  that  the  pump  stopped  it.  The  solid,  inert, 
incompressible  water  in  the  induction-pipe  could  not 
be  stirred.  Yet  there  was  power  in  the  motor;  he 
had  tried  to  stop  the  armature  with  his  hands,  but 
could  not.  Two  men  could  not — nor  three,  by  the 
way  it  felt.  If  he  could  multiply  that  power?  If  he 
could  give  it  purchase?  If  the  water  were  more 
yielding — compressible — so  that  the  motor,  once 
started,  would  go  on?  Compressible,  like  air? 

Air — compressible  air.  He  had  too  much  air — 
bad  air,  too.  It  gave  him  the  pain  in  his  head  and 
the  roaring  in  his  ears.  Crawling  forward  as  far  as 
he  could  go,  he  found  a  sweeter  atmosphere,  and 
thought  it  out.  There  was  little  logic  or  coherency 
in  his  thoughts ;  he  only  wanted  to  devise  means  to 
get  rid  of  that  poisonous  flow  of  gas,  which  came 
from  he  knew  not  what  defect  in  his  apparatus,  but 
wtaich  he  could  only  stop  by  stopping  the  supply  of 
oxygen.  The  air-compressor  motor  was  burned  out, 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  147 

otherwise  he  could  pump  air  into  any  of  the  tanks, 
and  outboard  when  the  pressure  was  great  enough. 
Could  he  turn  that  rotary  bilge-pump  into  an  air 
pump?  Could  he  make  an  aperture  in  the  induction- 
pipe  above  the  water?  Crawling  aft  into  the  stifling 
atmosphere  near  the  motor,  he  found  an  elbow  in 
the  induction-pipe  made  up  of  a  T- joint  and  a  plug. 
Securing  a  wrench  that  fitted,  he  removed  the  plug 
and  laid  it  on  the  motor-bed.  Then  he  turned  on 
the  current,  assured  himself  that  the  motor  was  turn 
ing  over,  and  crawled  forward  out  of  the  fumes. 
Here  he  remained,  and  after  a  long  time,  when  a  new 
sound  as  of  the  clapping  of  an  outlet  valve  came  to 
his  burdened  ears  over  the  uproar,  he  shouted  ap 
proval,  and  again  was  happy.  He  was  pumping  bad 
air  out  of  the  boat,  and  all  was  well  with  him.  He 
was  not  even  hungry  nor  thirsty;  but,  after  a  time, 
when  the  clapping  of  that  valve  in  the  outlet  pipe 
had  become  a  familiar  sound,  and  his  head  had 
stopped  aching,  he  felt  somewhat  sleepy;  and,  as  the 
pile  of  machinery  on  which  he  lay  was  a  hard  bed, 
he  crawled  aft  a  little,  where  the  greasy  oilcloth 
flooring  was  softer.  He  went  to  sleep  here,  face  up 
ward,  directly  beneath  the  conning-tower  hatch. 

Years,  generations,  centuries  passed  while  he  lay 
there,  and  he  wakened  once  or  twice  in  a  decade, 
listened  to  a  far-away,  roaring  sound  punctuated  by 
the  clapping  of  a  valve,  and  went  to  sleep  again. 
He  wasted  no  energy  in  thinking  about  these  sounds ; 
they  were  the  only  sounds  in  the  universe,  and  be 
yond  his  care  and  control.  But  at  last  a  new  sensa 
tion  came  to  him,  one  that  affected  not  his  ears  nor 
his  organs  of  taste  or  smell ;  these  were  dead,  killed 
long  ago  by  that  terrible,  blistering  gas.  The  sense 
of  touch  was  lost  in  the  all-pervading  pain  that  sat- 


148  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

urated  his  whole  body.  The  sense  of  light  was  but 
a  memory,  lost  in  the  darkness  that  had  engulfed 
him  with  the  burning-out  of  the  last  bulb.  But  now, 
as  he  lay  there  on  his  back,  the  sense  of  light  and 
sight  seemed  returning.  Through  his  half-closed  eye 
lids  a  dim  glimmer  of  yellow  and  gray  came  into  his 
brain.  He  opened  them  wide,  and  took  in  the  details 
of  the  conning-tower  ladder,  the  circular  tower  just 
above,  and  an  occasional  flickering  image  of  the  star 
board  deadlight  moving  up  and  down,  back  and  forth, 
on  the  port  inner  surface  of  the  tower.  Light ! 
Where  did  it  come  from?  He  arose  painfully  to  his 
feet,  and  fell  down.  The  boat  was  in  motion,  pitch 
ing  somewhat,  and  rolling — ever  so  slowly — while 
water  still  washed  around  among  the  battery  jars. 
He  arose  again,  supporting  himself  by  the  ladder. 
The  motor,  dimly  showing  in  the  gray  light,  was 
spinning  rapidly,  the  fans  were  still  buzzing,  the 
outlet  valve  still  clapping  at  regular  and  more  fre 
quent  intervals.  The  boat  was  afloat.  He  slowly 
climbed  the  ladder,  found  the  hatch  unscrewed — un- 
confined  from  within — exactly  as  he  had  left  it  ages 
before  when  he  had  fallen,  half-drowned,  from  the 
ladder.  Exerting  all  his  strength,  he  pushed  up 
ward,  but  could  not  budge  it.  The  outlook  was  gray 
through  the  deadlights,  and  only  as  the  craft  rolled 
did  the  occasional  glimmer  of  yellow  light  come  in 
from  the  starboard.  She  was  on  the  surface,  but 
with  the  top  of  her  conning-tower  awash — all  below 
it  buried.  Even  had  he  succeeded  in  opening  the 
hatch  against  the  slight  weight  of  water  sliding  over 
it,  he  would  only  have  swamped  the  boat  and  gone 
down  again  to  another  eternity.  He  looked  at  the 
motor,  buzzing  noisily  and  working  a  rotary  pump 
that  pumped — air. 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN 

Weakly  and  painfully  he  descended  and  crawled 
aft  into  the  blistering  fumes  to  where  he  had  left  the 
T-joint  plug  and  the  wrench;  and  without  waiting  to 
stop  the  motor  he  turned  that  air-pump  back  into  a 
bilge-pump,  heard  the  gurgling  sound  of  water  in  the 
pipe  that  accompanied  the  last  few  heaves  he  gave 
to  the  wrench,  and  crawled  forward  to  where  the  air 
burned  and  choked  him — just  a  little — less.  Here 
he  waited,  listening  to  the  new  cadence  and  slower 
rhythm  of  that  clapping  outlet  valve  and  the  blessed 
sound  of  gurgling  water  in  the  pipe,  while  the  light 
above  grew  stronger  and  the  growing  hope  of  life 
in  his  heaving  breast  strove  vainly  to  formulate  itself 
into  words  of  prayer  to  pass  his  cracked  and  bleeding 
lips.  Then  the  buzzing  of  fans  and  motor  softened, 
the  rhythmic  cadence  of  the  clapping  valve  lessened 
and  lowered,  the  gurgling  sound  of  water  ceased, 
and,  though  the  fans  still  whirled  slowly,  the  pump 
ing  came  to  an  end.  The  thirty-six-hundred- 
ampere-hour  battery  was  exhausted,  but  the  work 
was  done. 

Breen  again  climbed  the  ladder  and  pushed  up 
ward  on  the  hatch.  It  yielded,  and  when  the  lifting 
spring  was  past  the  center  it  flew  upright.  Raising 
his  head  and  shoulders  through  the  opening,  he 
looked  across  a  dark,  heaving  sea  at  a  full  moon 
hanging  above  the  horizon.  He  had  seen  it  last  a 
month  before. 

And  the  air  that  he  took  into  his  poisoned  lungs 
cut  like  myriad  knives  of  ice. 

Three  members  of  the  Board  of  Inquiry,  that  later 
exonerated  Breen  from  misuse  of  government  prop 
erty,  met  at  the  Army  and  Navy  Club  long  before 
he  was  able  to  answer  questions,  and  unofficially  dis 
cussed  him.  One  was  a  captain,  another  a  surgeon, 


150  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

and  a  third  an  engineer  who  was  also  a  naval  con 
structor  and  an  electrical  expert. 

"  One  thing  we'll  have  to  find,  surely,"  said  the 
captain ;  "  that  is,  that  the  course  in  chemistry  at 
Annapolis  is  not  thorough.  I  passed  in  the  subject; 
but  what  did  I  know?  What  do  I  know  now? 
Who  but  a  specialist  like  Breen  could  save  the  boat 
and  his  life  in  that  manner — if  he  did  save  his  life. 
How  about  that,  doctor?  " 

"  He'll  pull  through,"  said  the  doctor.  "  His  hair 
will  turn  dark  again,  and  the  wrinkles  will  go  in  time. 
Lord,  how  he  looked ! — sixty  years  old,  gray-haired, 
and  emaciated.  Shows  what  an  excess  of  oxygen 
will  do,  even  diluted  with  all  those  poisonous  gases. 
His  lungs  and  throat  are  just  so  much  raw  meat." 

"  But  it's  funny,"  said  the  engineer.  "  No  one 
can  deny  Breen's  knowledge  of  chemistry — that's  un 
derstood.  Yet — he  was  in  my  class,  you  know — 
Breen  just  pulled  through  his  exams  by  the  skin  of 
his  teeth.  Chemical  symbols  were  worse  than  Greek 
to  him,  and  chemical  equations  a  deep,  dark  mystery. 
And  yet,  down  there  in  the  dark,  at  the  bottom,  he 
took  a  chance  that  nothing  but  utter  desperation 
would  induce  me  to  take,  and  made  a  discovery  in 
chemical  reactions  not  down  in  any  text-book  and 
never  announced  by  any  one  that  I  know  of." 

"  What  chance?    What  discovery?  " 

"  Well,  this.  Electrolysis  of  water  is  easy,  as  we 
all  know,  and  the  product  is  oxygen  and  hydrogen, 
which  can  be  breathed  for  a  time ;  but  it  is  an  ex 
plosive  mixture  that  would  have  blown  him  to  eternity 
had  enough  of  it  touched  a  spark  from  either  of 
those  three  fans." 

"  But  he  had  enclosed  the  commutators." 

"  Yes,  but  that  was  his  chance,  nevertheless.    Here 


FIFTY  FATHOMS  DOWN  151 

is  another:  He  turned  both  wires  into  the  pipe  lead 
ing  into  his  fan  system.  He  was  evolving  large  quan 
tities  of  chlorine  gas  from  the  salt  in  the  water,  and 
this  is  equally  explosive  when  in  contact  with  hydro 
gen,  not  only  from  sparks,  but  from  strong  light. 
Now,  he  was  in  pitch  darkness,  of  course,  and  every 
pipe  feed  led  directly  in  front  of  the  next  fan,  so 
that  the  mixed  gases  did  not  touch  the  sparks  and 
explode.  But  what  he  risked  was  the  poisoning  effect 
of  that  free  chlorine  before  he  made  his  discovery." 

"  And  it  did  poison  him,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"  Ripped  his  mucous  membrane  to  shreds  and 
smithereens.  But  what  did  he  discover?  " 

"  That  hydrogen  and  chlorine  gas,  mixed  in  utter 
darkness  and  violently  agitated,  will  combine  without 
explosion  into  hydrochloric-acid  gas.  Water  takes 
up  four  hundred  and  fifty  volumes  of  this  gas,  but 
only  two  and  a  half  volumes  of  free  chlorine,  and 
less  of  hydrogen.  His  discovery  saved  his  life." 

"  But,"  said  the  captain,  dryly,  "  he  made  a  much 
greater  practical  demonstration.  He  has  proved  that 
men  may  safely  be  ejected  from  torpedo  tubes,  that 
a  Whitehead  will  support  two  men  in  the  water,  and 
that  the  man  left  to  die  can  turn  into  gas  and  expel 
by  the  bilge-pumps  the  weight  of  water  that  holds 
down  the  boat.  How  much — in  this  case?  Did  you 
figure  it  out  ?  " 

"  About  a  pint,"  said  the  engineer ;  "  I  must  ask 
Breen,  though,  about  the  new  reaction.  It's  not  quite 
clear." 

But  Breen  did  not  enlighten  him. 


152  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

THE  ENEMIES 

HE  was  a  young  man — not  over  twenty- four — 
when  I  first  met  him.  He  came  down  the  dock 
dressed  in  nondescript  rags  which,  to  the  uninitiated, 
might  stamp  him  as  tramp  or  dock-rat;  but  to  me, 
taken  with  his  keen  glance  aloft  at  our  rigging  and 
his  sure-footed  jump  from  the  stringpiece  to  the 
fore-shrouds,  they  bespoke  the  deep-water  sailor. 
He  dropped  to  the  deck,  came  straight  to  the  galley 
door,  and  looked  in. 

"  Cook,"  he  said,  in  the  deep,  raspy  voice  of 
strongly  fibered  men,  "  I'm  hungry.  Will  you  gi* 
me  a  bite?  I'll  saw  wood,  or  peel  taters,  or — any 
thing  at  all." 

I  had  but  a  scant  supply  of  kindling  and  a 
sprained  wrist;  so  I  set  him  at  work.  Later,  as  he 
ate  his  breakfast  in  the  galley,  I  had  a  chance  to 
study  his  face.  It  was  a  particularly  ill-favored  face 
— not  vicious  at  all,  but  ill-adjusted  by  nature — dis 
proportionate.  Nothing  was  in  harmony:  his  ears, 
though  well  shaped,  stood  straight  out  from  his  head ; 
his  mouth,  neither  large  nor  small,  was  made  up  of 
two  very  thick  lips,  between  which  showed  two  ir 
regular  rows  of  strong,  yellow  teeth.  His  eyes  were 
dark  and  steadfast,  deep-sunken  in  cavities  topped 
by  thick  eyebrows  that  met  over  the  nose;  and  his 
nose  was  the  nose  of  a  fighter,  short,  broad,  and 
aquiline.  But,  as  though  to  atone  for  her  niggardly 
treatment  of  his  face,  Mother  Nature  had  given  him 
the  figure  and  grace  of  an  Apollo.  Clearly  this  was 
not  a  man  to  be  satisfied  with  beggary,  and 
when  he  had  finished  his  meal  and  thanked  me  I 
asked : 


THE  ENEMIES  153 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Have  you  no  boarding- 
house?" 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  answered,  looking  me  squarely  in 
the  eyes ;  "  but  I  cleared  out  'fore  I  got  in  debt.  I'm 
through  wi'  deep  water — that  is,  I'll  try  starving 
awhile  'fore  I  ship  again  to  be  thumped  and  damned 
like  a  dog.  Ever  been  deep-water?  " 

"  Yes.     One  voyage." 

"  I've  made  three — three  too  many.  And  I  went 
against  my  will  each  time.  Shanghaied  each  time, 
and  I  skipped  at  every  chance,  and  tried  to  get  work 
ashore,  but — you  know  how  boarding-masters  own  us, 
and  how  the  police  are  with  them,  always." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  I  answered ;  "  and  I  blame  no  man 
for  trying  to  escape  the  life;  but  can't  you  get  a  job 
on  the  docks?" 

"  No ;  I  don't  belong  to  the  union,  and,  as  for 
laboring  work,  there  are  ten  men  waiting  for  each 
job,  all  known  to  the  boss.  I  hope  to  slip  into  some 
thing  soon,  but  meanwhile  I  have  to  eat." 

"  What  work  are  you  best  at?  "  I  asked,  idly,  for 
I  saw  little  hope  for  him.  A  sailor  ashore  cannot 
compete  with  Italian  laborers. 

"  I  have  no  trade,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  a  night- 
watchman  in  a  Brooklyn  lumber-yard  when  they  first 
shanghaied  me;  and  I  was  studying  medicine  nights 
by  a  dark-lantern  and  attending  lectures  in  the  after 
noon.  You  may  not  think  so,  but  I'm  a  high-school 
graduate.  But  that's  all  past  now ;  I  can't  go  home 
in  these  clothes,  and  I'm  too  old  to  take  up  study 
again,  anyhow.  No,  I'm  fixed." 

"  Why  not  go  coasting  until  you  save  some 
money?  "  I  asked,  more  interested  now. 

"  Oh,  I've  tried  to,"  he  said,  his  dark  eyes  lighting. 
"  They  treat  men  decently  on  the  coast,  I  hear,  and 


154  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

that's  a  strong  point  wi'  me.  I  wasn't  born  to  be 
hammered,  and  I  always  hit  back,  and  get  the  worst 
of  it.  But  there's  a  union  here,  too;  and  I  can't  join 
it  without  a  little  money  for  dues  and  initiation." 

"  Ever  command  men  ?  " 

"  Been  bosun.     I'm  an  able  seaman,  all  right." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  Clear  out  now,  and  come 
back  this  afternoon.  The  skipper  wants  a  second- 
mate  in  this  schooner,  and  you  might  do.  I'll  sound 
him  at  dinner-time.  The  mate  and  crew  are  aboard, 
and  we  sail  in  the  morning." 

"  Thank  you,  cook.  I  can't  navigate,  but  second- 
mates  don't  have  to,  as  I  understand.  Yes,  I  could 
do  the  work,  I  know.  And,  of  course,  the  skipper 
won't  expect  a  well-groomed  man  out  of  a  deep- 
water  fo'c's'le.  I'll  get  clothes  the  first  chance." 

The  upshot  was  that  John  Waverlie  sailed  with  us 
as  second  mate,  with  an  outfit  of  clothing  paid  for 
with  money  loaned  by  myself.  I  had  asked  few 
favors  of  Captain  Samson  in  the  five  years  I  had 
signed  with  him,  and  this,  with  my  offer  to  anticipate 
possible  advance-money,  won  me  my  point;  for  I 
was  thoroughly  impressed  with  Waverlie.  He  fell 
into  his  place  easily,  mastering  the  slight  difference 
between  square  and  schooner  rig  seamanship  before 
we  had  finished  the  passage  to  Cedar  Keys,  where 
we  took  an  assorted  cargo.  Here  he  showed  himself 
a  master-hand  at  rigging  purchases  to  discharge  this 
cargo,  which  comprised  the  stock  of  a  dozen  country 
stores ;  and  in  stowing  lumber  for  the  return  trip  his 
natural  intelligence  served  him  well  in  lieu  of  ex 
perience  at  cargo  work — which  a  deep-water  man 
does  not  get.  By  the  time  we  reached  Boston  he  was 
sure  of  his  berth  and  his  future,  should  he  care  to 
remain  in  the  coasting  trade. 


THE  ENEMIES  155 

At  Boston  he  paid  me  the  money  loaned,  packed 
his  belongings,  and  left  to  visit  his  home,  where,  he 
said,  he  had  not  been  since  leaving  school.  I  sup 
posed  I  had  seen  the  last  of  him,  and  was  rather  sur 
prised  when  he  appeared  in  less  than  a  week  and 
asked  the  skipper  for  his  second-mate's  berth.  He 
was  taken  on,  and  we  sailed  for  Aspinwall. 

Since  the  visit  home  his  manner  had  changed — his 
earnest,  dogged  cheerfulness  giving  way  to  a  half- 
surly  indifference  to  the  presence  of  others  which 
was  somewhat  repellent.  But  he  never  overstepped 
the  line — he  was  invariably  civil,  and  in  his  attitude 
toward  the  crew  he  was  all  that  sailors  desire  in  an 
officer.  He  invited  no  freedom  nor  familiarity,  but 
abstained  religiously  from  ever  raising  his  hand  or 
voice  in  anger — a  hard  rule  to  follow,  considering 
that  even  coasters  occasionally  ship  a  fo'c's'le  lawyer 
who  yields  to  nothing  but  a  knock-down. 

"  I've  seen  enough  of  it,"  I  heard  him  say  to  the 
captain,  "  and  I  know  its  futility.  I've  been  ham 
mered  senseless  more  than  once  just  to  keep  me  at 
work ;  and  it  wasn't  necessary.  Nine  men  out  o'  ten 
will  do  as  they're  told ;  the  tenth  may  wait ;  but  he'll 
do  it." 

There  was  something  on  Waverlie's  mind — some 
thing  too  deep  and  heavy  for  confidence.  Often  dur 
ing  the  last  dog-watch,  when  work  was  done  and  he 
stood  in  his  favorite  spot  near  the  weather-poop 
steps,  gazing  steadily  over  the  sea,  I  could  hear,  as  I 
passed  him,  his  heavy  breathing,  hoarse  and  throaty, 
which  in  a  smaller,  weaker  man  would  have  been  a 
succession  of  groans.  But  in  time,  as  we  passed  up 
and  down  the  coast,  these  moods  left  him,  though  his 
silent  self-absorption  remained. 

He  bought  himself  a  quadrant,  an  epitome,  and  a 


156  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

nautical  almanac,  and,  against  the  ill-concealed  ridi 
cule  of  the  first  mate,  studied  navigation,  asking  no 
instruction  from  either  him  or  the  captain.  And  he 
did  not  appear  on  deck  with  his  quadrant  until,  one 
night  six  months  later,  he  brought  it  up  to  take  a 
lunar — to  the  wonder  of  the  skipper — and  followed 
the  feat  by  taking  a  meridian  observation  next  day 
which  tallied  closely  with  that  of  his  superiors.  He 
was  a  navigator,  and  did  not  hesitate  so  to  proclaim 
himself.  His  boyhood  schooling  had  made  it  easy 
for  him. 

But  it  did  not  lessen  the  growing  gulf  between  him 
self  and  the  jealous  first  mate;  and  one  day  at 
Charleston,  when  there  was  a  little  friction  with  the 
overworked  and  exhausted  crew,  the  angry  first  mate 
twitted  the  mild-spoken  Waverlie  with  cowardice  in 
not  treating  the  men  as  men  deserved  to  be  treated 
by  competent  second  mates.  Waverlie  coolly  invited 
him  over  the  side  to  the  dock,  and  there  he  thrashed 
him  into  half-consciousness,  to  the  result  that  the 
disgruntled  and  humiliated  mate  quit  the  schooner. 
Waverlie  took  his  berth,  and  a  second  mate  was 
shipped  in  his  place. 

As  first  mate  he  gave  satisfaction,  and  after  a  few 
more  trips  there  came  a  second  and  unexpected  pro 
motion.  Captain  Samson  sickened  and  died  at  Rio 
Janeiro,  and  Waverlie  took  the  schooner  home. 
Then,  after  an  interview  with  the  owner,  he  was 
formally  installed  in  command.  In  three  years  from 
the  time  I  had  fed  him,  a  hungry  waif  looking  for 
work,  John  Waverlie  had  become  captain  of  a  well- 
equipped  three-mast  schooner,  and  I  was  proud  of 
my  judgment. 

But  Waverlie  did  not  stop.  Satisfied  with  himself, 
with  more  leisure,  he  studied  and  read,  and  gradually, 


THE  ENEMIES  157 

as  the  months  passed,  he  lost  the  little  mannerisms, 
the  small  crudities  of  the  seafaring  man,  relapsing, 
perhaps,  into  the  refinement  of  his  youth.  His  face 
and  voice  softened;  the  dogged  stare  left  his  deep- 
sunken  eyes,  showing  now  only  under  stress  of 
weather  or  work.  And  he  scrupulously  held  to  his 
rule  of  discipline.  He  would  discharge  a  refractory 
sailor  on  occasions,  but  on  no  account  would  he  allow 
one  of  his  mates  to  strike,  threaten,  or  even  curse 
a  man  of  his  crew.  He  smoked  inveterately,  but  did 
not  chew  tobacco  nor  drink ;  and  it  gradually  dawned 
upon  me  that  he  was  more  than  a  strong,  self-made 
man — he  was  a  gentleman. 

He  studied  deeper  into  navigation  than  would  most 
captains,  and  his  knowledge  of  winds,  tides,  currents, 
and  the  geography  of  the  sea  gave  him  an  advantage 
that  is  generally  named  as  good  luck;  he  was  a 
"  lucky  captain  " — he  made  fast  passages  with  little 
damage  to  spars,  sails,  or  rigging.  This  impressed 
the  owner,  who  put  him  in  command  of  a  fine  bark  of 
the  employ,  engaged  in  the  South  American  trade. 
He  took  his  whole  crew  with  him,  and,  as  the  bark 
carried  a  steward  as  well  as  a  cook,  he  gave  me  the 
berth,  and  installed  me  in  charge  of  the  cabin. 

And  now  occurred  a  series  of  happenings  which 
led  me  to  think  that  Captain  Waverlie  had  reached 
his  limitations.  Success  had  been  so  easy  for  him 
after  his  escape  from  the  thrall  of  the  crimps  that  I 
did  not  wonder  at  his  ordering  fashionable  clothing 
from  the  best  tailors  in  New  York,  and  stopping  at 
the  best  hotels  when  in  port.  Nor  did  the  quality 
of  his  evening  enjoyments  surprise  me.  In  caring 
for  his  clothing  I  often  found  programmes  of  vaude 
ville  shows  and  music-halls,  with  literature  pertain 
ing  to  f ootlight  favorites ;  for  many  a  man  of  good 


158  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

instincts  but  no  social  position  will  take  his  enter 
tainment  where  he  can.  But  I  was  more  than  sur 
prised  and  greatly  saddened  when  he  called  me  from 
my  room  one  midnight  in  New  York  and  thickly 
ordered  me  to  assist  him  to  bed.  He  was  palpably 
drunk,  and  slept  far  into  the  morning.  Then  he 
went  ashore,  and  remained  until  the  bark  was  nearly 
ready  to  sail,  when  he  came  in  a  cab,  in  company 
with  a  woman,  whom  he  assisted  up  the  gangway 
and  into  the  cabin.  Later  came  an  expressman  with 
a  trunk,  and  later  in  the  day  a  clergyman.  Then  the 
first  mate  and  myself  were  called  into  the  after  cabin, 
where  Captain  John  Waverlie,  sober,  erect,  and 
proud,  gave  his  name  to  this  faded  woman,  whose 
breath,  even  as  she  uttered  the  marriage  vows, 
tainted  the  air  of  the  cabin  with  the  odor  of  whisky. 
Her  age  could  not  be  told  from  her  face,  but  I  judged 
that  she  was  younger  than  the  captain.  She  was 
of  the  blond  type,  with  a  splendid  head  of  hair,  and 
fine  blue  eyes  dimmed  by  illness ;  her  face  and  form 
were  emaciated,  and  her  features  twitched  contin 
ually  from  nervous  trouble,  brought  on,  perhaps,  by 
excessive  use  of  stimulants.  Or  it  may  be  that  the 
immediate  cause  was  the  rather  sudden  stoppage  of 
their  use,  as  Captain  Waverlie,  after  the  first  day's 
license,  placed  the  ship's  liquor  in  my  charge,  with 
orders  to  keep  her  from  getting  any.  This  I  did, 
though  she  often  begged  plaintively  for  a  bracer.  As 
for  the  captain,  he  never,  to  my  knowledge,  drank 
again. 

We  sailed  to  Montevideo  and  Rio  that  voyage,  and 
back  to  New  York ;  and  Captain  Waverlie — neglect 
ing  no  duty,  however — spent  his  time  in  her  company, 
and  grew  younger  in  the  dimmed  light  of  those  faded 
blue  eyes.  That  he  loved  her  was  beyond  question; 


THE  ENEMIES  159 

and  as  the  voyage  progressed  she  grew  more  lovable. 
Regular  meals,  pure  air,  and  the  absence  of  liquor 
rounded  her  form,  smoothed  the  lines  in  her  face, 
steadied  her  nerves,  and  put  music  into  her  laugh. 
And  there  was  little  doubt  that  she  loved  Captain 
Waverlie. 

But  she  did  not  like  the  sea,  and  at  New  York 
induced  him  to  install  her  in  an  uptown  apartment 
while  he  made  the  next  voyage,  and  promised  then  to 
join  him  on  the  third.  So,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
she  thanked  me  earnestly  for  my  hardness  of  heart 
in  refusing  her  the  whisky  that  was  killing  her,  and 
went  ashore  with  her  husband.  We  sailed  without 
her,  and  Captain  Waverlie  nearly  dismasted  the  bark 
on  several  occasions  that  voyage,  "  cracking  on  "  to 
make  a  quick  passage ;  for  he  missed  her.  I  missed 
her  too,  unsentimental  old  man  though  I  am. 

We  docked  at  New  York  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 
he  hurried  ashore.  When  he  returned,  on  the  even 
ing  of  the  next  day,  he  came  alone ;  he  stumbled 
heavily  down  the  gangway  steps,  and  walked  un 
steadily  about  the  decks  for  a  few  minutes  before 
entering  the  cabin,  where  I  was  watching  him  from 
the  forward  door.  He  was  not  drunk,  though  when  I 
saw  his  face  in  the  lamplight  I  wished  that  he  was. 
He  looked  twenty  years  older. 

"  Dead,  steward,  dead !  "  he  groaned,  hoarsely  and 
brokenly — "  dead  by  her  own  hand.  She  couldn't 
hold  up — she  couldn't  hold  up  without  me.  It's  my 
fault — all  mine.  I  ought  not  to  have  left  her." 

It  is  awful  to  hear  a  strong  man  weep.  He  buried 
his  head  in  his  arms  on  the  table  and  gave  way  to  it, 
his  choking  sobs  seeming  to  shake  the  framework  of 
the  cabin.  I  could  do  nothing — say  nothing;  but  my 
own  tears  fell  as  I  stood  stupidly  by  and  waited.  At 


160  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

last  he  grew  quieter,  his  paroxysms  dwindled  to  the 
heavy,  hoarse  breathing  which  I  had  noticed  years 
before,  and  then  he  lifted  his  head  from  his  arms, 
with  a  look  on  his  face  that  no  sane  man  should 
wear. 

"  Buried  in  Potter's  Field,  steward,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  could  not  find  her  grave.  Even  that  was  denied 
me." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  captain,"  I  stammered.  "  What 
can  I  do?  Shall  I  get  you  something  to  drink — to 
steady  you?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  he  yelled.  "  I  dare  not.  Don't  give 
it  to  me  if  I  ask  for  it.  If  I  drink,  I  will  murder. 
And  it  must  not  be  that — not  murder." 

He  stood  up  and  paced  the  cabin  floor  in  hurried, 
jerky  turns.  The  exercise  seemed  to  calm  him,  for 
he  faced  me  with  a  strained  smile  on  his  haggard 
face,  and  said : 

"  Never  drink  when  you're  in  trouble,  steward.  It 
makes  things  worse.  I'll  come  around  all  right." 

"  Try  to,  sir.  Try  and  forget  it  for  your  own 
sake." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  slowly  and  wearily.  "  I'll  try 
and  forget  her  " — he  turned  to  pass  through  the 
after-cabin  door — "  but  not — " 

I  did  not  hear  the  rest.  He  closed  the  door  and  I 
turned  into  my  berth — but  not  to  sleep. 

There  was  no  more  of  it.  He  "  came  around,"  as 
he  had  said,  and  we  made  another  voyage,  unevent 
ful  until  within  a  day's  sail  of  Sandy  Hook,  when  he 
met  with  an  accident.  It  came  of  his  never-failing 
consideration  of  his  crew's  comfort ;  he  forebore  call 
ing  the  watch  below  to  wear  ship  in  a  wind  and  sea 
which  made  it  a  hard  task  for  the  watch  on  deck; 
but,  with  myself  at  the  wheel  so  that  the  sailor  could 


THE  ENEMIES  161 

help  at  the  braces,  and  the  captain  assisting  as  well, 
the  bark  came  around  and  the  yards  were  swung. 
But  in  jibing  the  spanker  as  she  swung  up  on  the 
other  tack  the  weather-sheet  or  guy-tackle  parted, 
the  spanker  crashed  over,  and  the  broken  rope,  un- 
reeving  like  a  whip-lash,  struck  the  captain  on  the 
left  side  of  his  face,  and  tore  his  right  ear  downward, 
half  severing  it  from  his  head.  I  bandaged  it  in 
place,  but,  as  it  gave  small  sign  of  healing,  he  went 
ashore  at  New  York  for  surgical  treatment.  When 
he  returned,  both  ears  were  bandaged,  and  he  ex 
plained,  with  rather  a  grim  smile. 

"  I  struck  a  place  up-town,"  he  said,  "  where  they 
can  shorten  your  nose  or  lengthen  it,  trim  your  ears 
into  shape,  straighten  your  teeth,  or  beautify  your 
mouth.  Surgical  dermatology,  they  call  it ;  and  they 
wanted  to  give  me  the  whole  treatment.  Well,  I  let 
them  try  on  my  stunsail  ears,  and  they  say  they've 
made  a  good  job  of  it,  though  I  won't  know  until 
they're  healed." 

They  had  made  a  good  job  of  it.  His  ears,  which 
had  stood  out  like  wings,  lay  straight  against  his 
head  when  the  bandages  came  off,  and  there  was  not 
even  a  sign  of  the  operation,  the  slight  scar  left  by 
the  knife  being  hidden. 

Aside  from  the  strict  habits  of  cleanliness  and 
good  taste  in  dress  common  to  all  successful  and  self- 
respecting  men,  Captain  Waverlie  had  heretofore  dis 
played  nothing  of  personal  vanity ;  but  the  straight 
ening  of  his  ears  seemed  to  bring  it  into  play.  He 
stocked  his  cabin  with  works  on  anatomy  and  sur 
gery,  and  all  of  the  next  voyage  was  a  diligent  stu 
dent  of  these  and  of  the  advertising  circulars  given 
him  by  the  institute  which  had  operated  on  his  ears. 
I  often  surprised  him  in  front  of  his  mirror,  studying 


162  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

his  misshapen  features  with  an  interest  hardly  to  be 
expected  in  a  strong,  level-headed  shipmaster.  He 
had  always  shaved  smooth,  but  on  the  run  down  the 
coast  he  grew  a  mustache,  and  on  the  return  trip  a 
pointed  beard.  Apparently  neither  suited  him — his 
thick  lips  could  not  be  hidden,  and  his  broad  nose 
spoiled  the  effect;  so  he  shaved  again.  And  at  New 
York  I  found  a  reason  for  this  new-born  interest  in 
his  personal  appearance.  Our  plutocratic  owner, 
who  seldom  soiled  his  shoe-leather  on  the  decks  of  his 
ships,  brought  his  daughter,  whom  Waverlie  had 
once  spoken  of,  aboard  the  bark  on  a  visit;  and  as 
I  noticed  the  admiration  in  Waverlie's  eyes  I  was 
glad,  remembering  the  other. 

She  was  a  beautiful  girl — of  a  beauty  hard  to  de 
scribe,  being  due  to  her  charm  of  manner  as  much  as 
to  her  face  and  figure.  She  was  about  twenty-five, 
of  the  fair-haired,  brown-eyed  type  so  rare  among 
women,  and  she  possessed  all  the  accomplishments 
which  a  rich  man's  daughter  may  acquire.  Hardly 
the  girl  to  take  to  a  self-made  ship  captain,  I 
thought;  yet  she  would  distract  him  from  his  mem 
ories.  But  I  did  not  then  know  Waverlie — even  after 
eight  years  of  service  with  him.  And  a  piece  of 
news  given  out  by  the  owner  as  he  was  departing 
seemed  to  lessen  somewhat  the  difference  between 
them.  A  new  ship  was  thought  of,  to  be  launched  in 
about  a  year — a  four-masted  ship  for  the  China 
trade.  And  Captain  Waverlie,  the  man  of  fast  pas 
sages,  was  to  command  her. 

"  So,  steward,"  he  said  at  supper  that  evening, 
with  one  of  his  rare  smiles,  "  I'm  fated  for  deep- 
water,  after  all.  No  escape  for  me." 

"  But  you  go  as  master  now,  sir,"  I  responded. 

"  Yes  " — the  smile  gave  way  to  the  frightful  look 


THE  ENEMIES  163 

his  face  had  worn  when  he  wept  for  the  woman  he 
loved — "  yes,  steward,  master  of  a  big  ship — master 
of  the  lives  and  liberties  of  twenty  or  thirty  human 
beings,  a  pet  of  the  law  and  public  sentiment.  What 
a  vengeance  I  could  wreak  on  the  men  who  misused  me 
if  I  got  them  in  my  forecastle !  " 

"  But  you  wouldn't,  captain,"  I  answered. 
"  You're  not  that  kind  of  a  man." 

"  Well,  perhaps  not — perhaps  not,"  he  said,  slowly. 
"  We'll  see  what  kind  of  man  I  may  become  with 
power  of  life  and  death.  Men  change  as  they  grow 
older.  And,  by-the-way,  steward,  express  no  sur 
prise  at  any  change  you  may  see  in  my  countenance. 
I  mean  to  take  the  treatment  I  spoke  of,  one  feature 
at  a  time.  You  will  be  the  only  one  to  know  of  it. 
I  want  no  gossip.  Understand?  " 

I  understood.  Miss  Irene  was  a  prize  worth  a 
little  suffering  for;  yet  when  he  came  on  board  on 
the  evening  before  we  sailed,  with  his  nose  bandaged, 
and  walked  the  cabin  floor  all  the  night,  wheezing 
with  pain,  I  marveled  at  his  fortitude.  He  ex 
plained  next  morning  to  his  inquiring  first  mate  that 
he  had  been  assaulted,  and  the  officer  believed  him. 
So  he  breathed  through  his  mouth  for  three  weeks  at 
sea,  and  when  the  bandage  came  off  there  came  with 
it  a  murderous  steel  clamp  that  had  pressed  his  wide 
nostrils  together  and  permanently  shaped  them.  But 
it  was  not  this  which  had  reduced  the  arching  profile 
to  a  straight  line  and  given  him  a  nose  as  correctly 
chiseled  as  that  of  a  statue;  an  incision  had  been 
made  on  the  bridge  and  some  of  the  bony  cartilage 
removed.  Before  the  bark  docked  at  New  York  the 
thin,  red  line  of  scar  was  gone. 

Again  he  visited  the  surgeons,  and  again  he  went 
to  sea  with  a  tale  of  assault,  mumbled  between 


164  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

swollen  lips  almost  covered  with  strips  of  adhesive 
plaster.  These  strips  he  removed  continuously  as 
they  loosened  from  the  moisture  of  his  mouth,  and 
for  a  few  days  he  wrote  his  orders  to  the  mate  on  the 
log-slate  and  almost  starved  from  the  difficulty  in 
eating.  Small  muscles  had  been  removed,  he  ex 
plained  to  me  when  able  to  speak,  and  the  incisions 
made  inside  of  the  lips,  where  they  would  not  show. 
The  operation  gave  him  a  well-shaped  mouth,  which 
harmonized  with  the  nose  above,  but  did  not  har 
monize  with  the  bushy  line  of  eyebrow  higher  up. 
The  last  was  a  small  matter,  however,  which,  he  said, 
could  be  remedied  with  an  electric  needle.  It  was 
his  teeth  which  would  trouble  him  most,  and  that 
trouble  he  meant  to  bear  on  the  next  voyage. 

What  the  crew,  most  of  whom  had  signed  with 
him  for  years,  thought  of  his  changed  appearance 
found  expression  only  in  the  casual  remark  of  the 
mate,  that  "  if  he  got  slugged  a  few  more  times  it 
would  make  a  good-looking  man  of  him."  But  on 
this  voyage  he  allowed  his  beard  and  mustache  to 
grow  again,  and  when  the  owner  and  his  daughter 
again  visited  the  bark  at  New  York  their  joking 
comments  on  his  improved  appearance  were  confined 
to  the  hirsute  growth.  His  lips  were  almost  hidden, 
and  their  good-breeding  prevented  reference  to  his 
nose. 

What  progress  he  was  making  in  Miss  Irene's  good 
favor  I  could  not  guess ;  but  she  seemed  very  friendly 
toward  him,  and  I  knew  that  he  was  a  welcome  caller 
at  her  home.  I  hoped  for  the  best,  and  as  I  wit 
nessed  his  excruciating  agony  on  the  next  run  to  the 
southward,  I  felt  that  he  deserved  it.  They  had 
forcibly  wrenched  his  teeth  into  line,  wedged  them, 
and  clamped  them  with  steel.  A  drill  of  bad 


THE  ENEMIES  165 

weather  off  Hatteras  brought  on  facial  neuralgia, 
for  which  there  was  no  remedy  in  the  medicine-chest ; 
but  he  held  to  those  clamps  and  wedges  until,  on 
the  run  back  from  Rio,  the  warmth  of  the  tropics 
brought  relief;  then  he  displayed  as  fine  a  set  of 
teeth  as  may  be  imagined.  And  a  lesser  embellish 
ment  came  of  the  improvement  in  his  eyebrows;  the 
thick  growth  was  thinned  and  the  junction  over  the 
nose  was  cleared  away.  John  Waverlie  had  become 
a  handsome  man. 

But  with  his  change  of  appearance  came  a  change 
in  disposition,  regrettably  for  the  worse.  He  had 
one  more  voyage  to  make  in  the  bark  before  the  big 
ship  building  in  a  Maine  ship-yard  would  need  his 
supervision,  and  this  voyage  he  made  with  a  new 
crew,  refusing  to  sign  a  single  one  of  the  men  who 
had  sailed  so  long  with  him.  The  mates  were  dis 
charged  with  recommendations  to  the  owner,  and  he 
would  have  discharged  me  had  I  permitted  it.  It 
took  two  days  of  argument  and  a  downright  refusal 
to  quit  to  bring  a  reluctant  change  in  his  mind. 

"  But  you  must  take  what  comes,"  he  said.  "  I 
can't  take  a  home  crew  out  deep-water  in  a  big  ship 
with  as  many  more  strange  men.  There'd  be  trouble 
all  the  time.  So  I'm  getting  used  to  new  condi 
tions." 

I  could  not  admit  his  logic,  but  did  not  argue  any 
more;  and  we  sailed  with  two  heavy-fisted  brutes  as 
mates,  and  a  crew  seemingly  picked  for  their  stupid 
ity  and  incompetence,  whom  these  two  brutes  kicked 
and  cursed  to  their  hearts'  content.  Captain  Waver 
lie  permitted  it,  and  even  silenced  my  mild  protest 
against  it.  All  the  voyage,  too,  he  displayed  an 
irritability  and  a  half-peevishness  entirely  foreign  to 
his  past  attitude;  but  I  credited  this  to  chagrin  he 


166  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

must  have  suffered  at  New  York  when  the  owner 
and  his  daughter  had  come  aboard  with  a  third  vis 
itor — a  fashionably  dressed,  handsome  man  of  about 
his  own  age,  whose  elegant  bearing  and  brilliant  con 
versation  seemed  strongly  to  impress  Miss  Irene. 
As  the  two  stood  apart  for  a  few  comments  I  heard 
the  owner  describe  him  to  Waverlie  as  one  of  the 
ablest  lawyers  of  the  metropolitan  bar.  When  they 
went  ashore,  Waverlie's  dark  eyes  glowed  like 
smoldering  coals,  but  beyond  a  muttered  curse — not 
meant  for  my  ear — he  said  nothing. 

Although  he  had  discharged  his  old  mates  without 
cause,  he  rather  inconsistently  hunted  them  up  when 
we  returned,  and  the  owner  installed  them  as  captain 
and  first  mate  of  the  bark.  Then  he  took  me,  under 
pay,  up  to  the  Maine  ship-yard,  where  he  was  to  over 
see  the  finishing  touches  in  the  big  ship's  construc 
tion,  and  I  was  to  cook  for  him,  as  the  galley  and 
cabin  were  now  in  readiness.  On  the  day  of  the 
launching  it  was  my  province  to  provide  the  usual 
luncheon  for  the  large  party  of  guests  which  the 
owner  brought  on  board.  Miss  Irene  was  there,  of 
course;  and  much  in  evidence  among  them  was  Mr. 
Sargent,  the  lawyer,  who  seemed  to  be  more  than 
ever  in  the  good  graces  of  the  young  lady.  He  was 
at  her  side,  supporting  her  as  she  stood  in  the  knight- 
heads  and  smashed  the  bottle  of  wine  on  the  stem; 
he  monopolized  her  society  through  the  day,  and  at 
luncheon  they  sat  alone  on  the  cabin  skylight.  While 
serving  them  here  I  overheard  a  portion  of  their  con 
versation. 

"  It  is  fitting  and  apropos,"  Mr.  Sargent  was  say 
ing,  "  that  the  ship  bears  your  first  name  only.  For 
the  last  name  doesn't  become  you  at  all,  and  you 
will  change — " 


THE  ENEMIES  167 

"  Mr.  Sargent,"  she  answered,  laughing  as  she 
spoke,  "  what  reason  have  you  for  that  opinion?  I 
am  very  well  satisfied  with  my  last  name." 

At  this  moment  I  was  forced  to  go,  and  I  heard  no 
more ;  but  I  wondered  how  it  would  affect  Waverlie. 
He  bore  himself  well  through  the  day;  he  was  dig 
nified,  calm,  and  courteous  to  all,  and  only  at  in 
tervals  did  I  notice  the  devils  in  his  eyes.  But  the 
strain  was  undoubtedly  hard  upon  him,  and  toward 
the  last  he  yielded.  Mr.  Sargent  thanked  him 
gracefully  at  the  gangway  for  the  day's  entertain 
ment,  and  hoped  that  the  ship  would  not  sail  before 
a  certain  coming  event,  when  he  would  be  proud  to 
entertain  him.  Waverlie  responded  with  cold  con 
gratulations,  and  ignored  the  extended  hand  of  the 
lawyer,  who  thereupon  went  down  the  gangplank 
flushed  and  embarrassed.  That  night  the  captain 
walked  his  cabin  floor  in  a  silent  fury,  until,  his 
footfalls  keeping  me  awake,  I  intruded  upon  him 
and  asked  if  I  could  do  anything  for  him.  He  was 
pale  and  haggard,  but  graciously  thanked  me  and 
declined  my  ministrations.  Then,  in  a  sincere  effort 
to  ease  his  mind,  I  retailed  to  him  the  conversation 
between  the  two  that  I  had  heard  as  they  lunched 
on  the  skylight.  But  I  was  at  once  made  aware  that 
I  had  not  pleased  him. 

"  Steward,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  your  powers  of  ob 
servation  are  good,  but  you  are  valuable  to  me 
mainly  as  an  efficient  steward  who  knows  my  ways. 
Unless  you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  see  nothing, 
hear  nothing,  and  know  nothing  of  what  happens 
aboard  this  ship,  you  must  go.  I  will  get  one  who 
is  discreet." 

I  protested,  apologized,  and  promised;  then  he 
went  to  bed,  and  I  followed  suit  in  an  unenviable 


168  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

frame  of  mind.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  disciplined 
when  gray-headed  by  one  you  love  as  a  son.  And 
I  soon  learned  the  futility  of  my  gossip.  When  we 
were  fitted  out  and  towed  to  New  York  to  load  for 
Hong  Kong,  the  owner  came  aboard  and  casually 
mentioned  the  coming  marriage  of  his  daughter  to 
Mr.  Sargent.  But  Waverlie  displayed  no  emotion; 
it  required  the  presence  of  his  rival  to  excite  him. 

In  due  time  we  were  ready  for  sea,  and  the  cap 
tain  shipped  three  mates,  all  bigger,  noisier,  more 
profane  and  foul-mouthed  than  the  two  he  had  taken 
on  his  last  voyage ;  then  he  negotiated  with  Glasgow 
Mike,  boarding-house  keeper  and  shipping-master — 
the  worst  scoundrel  and  blackguard  on  South  Street 
— for  twenty-four  able  and  six  ordinary  seamen. 
After  the  first  interview  in  the  cabin,  Mike  appeared 
no  more  in  the  matter,  the  details  being  left  to  two 
runners  in  his  employ.  These  two  worthies  brought 
the  crew  and  their  dunnage  down  to  the  dock  in 
express  wagons  early  in  the  morning  of  our  sailing- 
day,  fully  half  of  them  unable  to  move  from  drink 
or  drugs.  They  were  lifted  aboard,  and  the  runners, 
indicating  each  unconscious  man  in  his  turn,  an 
swered  to  their  names  as  the  mate  read  the  list  from 
the  articles. 

"  Only  twenty-eight,  all  told,"  he  said,  running  his 
eye  down  the  column  of  names.  "  Where's  George 
Smithers  and  John  Carruthers  ?  " 

"  Skipped  out,"  answered  one  of  the  runners. 
"  But  we  know  where  they  are,  and  '11  have  'em  here 
'fore  you  leave  the  dock.  That's  all  right." 

They  went  ashore,  and  the  mates  bundled  the  un 
kempt  lot  of  wretches  into  the  forecastles.  They 
were  the  usual  type  of  sailors  who  man  American 
deep-water  ships — mostly  foreigners,  undersized, 


THE  ENEMIES  169 

stupid,  and  ragged,  enslaved  at  sea  by  the  law,  and 
robbed  ashore  by  the  crimps,  who  feed  them  for  a 
few  days,  that  they  may  enter  an  inflated  claim 
against  their  "  allotment  "  of  wages  when  they  sign 
again. 

In  an  hour  the  two  runners  returned  in  a  closed 
carriage  with  two  more  unconscious  men.  I  stood 
in  the  galley  door  as  they  were  lifted  aboard,  but 
could  hear  the  captain,  waiting  at  the  gangway,  ask 
the  runners : 

"  Are  these  my  men  ?  Did  they  sign  the  arti 
cles?" 

"  It's  all  right,  cap'n,"  said  one,  with  a  grin. 
"  Signed  an'  got  their  allotment  notes.  This  is 
George  Smithers  " — he  kicked  one  quiet  figure  on  the 
deck,  then  the  other — "  and  this  is  John  Carruthers. 
Good  men  when  they're  sober,  too." 

The  runners  went  into  the  cabin  with  the  captain, 
and  the  mates  ordered  the  newcomers  carried  to  the 
forecastle.  As  they  passed  me  at  the  galley  door  I 
looked  at  their  faces.  George  Smithers  was  Mr. 
Sargent,  dressed  in  filthy  canvas  rags,  and  John  Car 
ruthers  was  Glasgow  Mike. 

I  had  promised  to  see  nothing,  hear  nothing,  and 
know  nothing;  so  I  said  nothing,  and  the  expression 
of  Captain  Waverlie's  face  at  breakfast  told  me  that 
it  was  the  safest  thing  to  do.  A  man  who  dared 
shanghai  Glasgow  Mike  and  a  man  in  Mr.  Sargent's 
position  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.  But  I  thought 
and  wondered  sadly.  The  mate's  comment  on  the 
shortage  of  men  told  me  that  thirty  was  the  ship's 
complement.  Whether  or  not  Glasgow  Mike  had 
arranged  the  abduction  of  Mr.  Sargent  as  the  twenty- 
third  able  seaman,  he  himself,  it  seemed,  was  to  fill 
the  place  of  the  twenty-fourth — drugged  and  shipped 


170  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

by  his  own  runners.  I  thought,  too,  of  that  fair 
young  girl  robbed  of  her  lover. 

The  runners  went  ashore,  and  we  towed  down  the 
bay,  made  sail  with  the  aid  of  the  men  awake, 
dropped  the  tug  and  pilot  off  Sandy  Hook  Light 
ship,  and  with  a  fresh  westerly  wind  sank  the  land 
before  noon.  Then  the  sleepers  were  awakened.  I 
was  in  the  cabin  waiting  upon  the  captain  and  chief 
mate  at  dinner  at  this  time,  and  it  was  loud  and  bad 
language  on  deck  which  apprised  us  that  Glasgow 
Mike  was  asserting  himself.  "  Go  forrard,"  I  heard 
the  second  mate  roar  at  him,  "  an'  if  you  want  to 
see  the  skipper  wait  'til  he's  done  dinner." 

The  first  officer  chuckled  between  mouthfuls  at 
this;  then  said:  "  Know  who  you've  got  forrard,  sir? 
Glasgow  himself." 

"Who  is  Glasgow?  What  do  you  mean?"  asked 
the  captain. 

"  Glasgow  Mike,  the  boardin'-master.  Don't  know 
how  it  came  about,  sir,  but  his  runners  put  him 
aboard  as  a  shipped  man.  I  knew  him,  but  there's 
no  use  in  delayin'  the  ship  an'  one  man's  as  good  as 
another."  The  officer  laughed  heartily. 

"  I  know  nothing  whatever  about  it,"  said  the  cap 
tain,  with  annoyance  in  his  face.  "  I  don't  know 
one  of  those  thieves  from  another,  but  I  was  forced 
to  apply  to  one  of  them  for  a  crew." 

"  And  you've  got  the  man  you  applied  to,  sir," 
answered  the  mate,  with  a  grin.  "  It's  funny — damn 
funny." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  repeated  Waverlie. 
"  I  wouldn't  remember  the  features  of  the  man  I 
bargained  with.  He  put  my  case  in  the  hands  of  his 
runners.  I  would  remember  them,  I  think." 

They   finished   the   meal   and   went    on    deck,    the 


THE  ENEMIES  171 

second  and  third  mates  coming  down  when  relieved 
by  the  first.  Second  and  third  mates  require  little 
waiting  upon,  and  I  placed  myself  in  the  forward 
companionway,  where  I  could  see  and  hear.  For 
ward  were  the  newly  awakened  men,  clustered  about 
the  galley  door.  The  workers  were  at  dinner  in 
one  of  the  forecastles.  At  the  mizzen-hatch  was  Mr. 
Sargent,  pale  and  hollow-eyed,  and  on  the  weather- 
poop  steps,  his  head  and  torso  showing  over  the 
break  of  the  poop,  was  Glasgow  Mike.  He  was  in  a 
furious  rage. 

"  Now  look  here,  skipper,"  he  stormed,  as  he 
climbed  up.  "  What  fell's  this  for,  anyhow?  What 
am  I  here  for  in  yer  damned  fo'castle?  " 

"  As  I  understand  matters,"  answered  the  captain, 
stepping  up  to  him,  "  you  are  here  as  one  of  my 
crew,  signed  for  the  voyage  to  Hong  Kong  and  back 
to  an  American  port  of  discharge." 

"What!"  yelled  Mike.  "Don't  ye  know  me?  I 
shipped  yer  crew  for  ye.  What  fell's  the  matter  wi* 
ye,  skipper  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  you.  I  never  saw  you  before.  I 
paid  for  a  crew,  and  the  men  who  brought  you 
aboard  drunk  gave  your  name  as  John  Carruthers, 
able  seaman.  I  find  that  name  is  on  my  articles, 
with  three  months'  allotment  of  wages  charged 
against  it,  payable  to  Michael  McSorley." 

"  That's  me,  all  right — not  John  Carruthers.  I'm 
Michael  McSorley,  and  I  want  ye  to  put  me  'board 
the  first  inbound  craft.  If  ye  don't,  there'll  be 
trouble  ahead  for  you.  Ye'll  never  get  a  crew  on  this 
coast  again.  Damn  ye,  don't  ye  know  me?  " 

"  That's  enough.  Mr.  Mitchell,"  said  the  captain, 
turning  to  the  first  mate,  "  turn  this  man  to  and 
take  the  starch  out  of  him." 


172  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

The  starch  was  thoroughly  extracted  from  Mike 
in  the  next  five  minutes.  He  was  knocked  off  the 
poop  by  a  fist-blow,  and,  though  he  fought  bravely 
during  his  jerky  passage  forward,  he  was  not  a  match 
for  the  giant  first  mate.  He  was  actually  knocked, 
thrown,  and  kicked  from  the  poop  to  the  forecastle 
door,  and  here,  with  eyes  closed  and  blood  streaming 
from  his  face,  he  subsided. 

Captain  Waverlie  watched  calmly  from  the  poop, 
and  Mr.  Sargent,  with  doubt  and  anxiety  in  his  face, 
from  the  hatch  below ;  then,  as  the  flushed  and  vic 
torious  Mr.  Mitchell  swaggered  aft  the  lawyer 
preceded  him  up  the  poop  steps  and  faced  the 
captain. 

"  I  have  grasped  the  situation,  Captain  Waverlie," 
he  said,  slowly,  "  in  all  but  its  latest  aspect — as  to 
why  the  man,  your  paid  tool  evidently,  who  assaulted 
me,  chloroformed  me,  and  threw  me  into  a  cab  at 
my  own  door  is  now  in  the  same  predicament  as 
myself.  This  is  probably  not  my  business,  but  may 
I  ask  your  intentions  in  my  own  case?  " 

"  My  intentions,  damn  you !  "  roared  Waverlie — 
"  my  intentions  in  your  case?  I  have  none,  except 
to  make  you  earn  your  pay.  What  cock-and-bull 
yarn  have  you  got  to  tell?  Out  with  it." 

The  lawyer  was  silent  for  a  moment  while  he  calmly 
studied  the  captain's  face ;  then  he  said :  "  I  have 
no  yarn  to  tell.  I  will  merely  remind  you  that  I  am 
William  Sargent,  a  friend  of  your  owner's  and  the 
affianced  of  his  daughter ;  that  I  have  power  over  the 
machinery  of  the  law  far  beyond  your  grasp ;  that  I 
am  fully  aware  of  your  motive  in  removing  me  from 
your  path ;  and  I  also  say  that  unless  you  kill  me  on 
this  passage  I  will  send  you  to  state's  prison.  And 
if  you  do  kill  me,  understand  that  a  man  of  my 


THE  ENEMIES  178 

position  cannot  disappear  without  inquiry  and  inves 
tigation." 

"  Damn  your  impudence !  "  answered  Waverlie,  as 
he  seized  him  by  the  collar.  "  You — Mr.  Sargent " 
— he  shook  him  vigorously.  "  Why,  I  know  the  man 
as  well  as  I  know  myself.  You're  George  Smithers, 
signed  on  my  articles  as  able  seaman.  If  you're  not 
what  you've  signed  for,  you'll  wish  yourself  dead. 
Get  off  my  poop-deck !  " 

"And  do  you  deny  my  identity?"  demanded  the 
angry  lawyer,  struggling  in  his  strong  grasp.  "  I 
warn  you — " 

The  captain  released  him,  but  drove  his  fist  with 
all  his  strength  into  his  face,  stopping  the  speech 
and  sending  him  crashing  against  the  monkey-rail. 

"  Get  forward  where  you  belong !  "  he  thundered. 
"  Mr.  Mitchell,  turn  the  man  to." 

The  mate,  who  had  climbed  the  steps,  turned  him 
to.  The  process  was  not  so  painful  to  witness  as  in 
the  case  of  Glasgow  Mike,  for  the  lawyer  made  no 
resistance,  and,  after  being  pushed  down  the  steps 
and  struck  a  few  times,  went  forward  hurriedly. 
Captain  Waverlie,  with  a  face  almost  black  with 
passion,  started  below  and  met  me  in  the  companion. 
Something  in  my  own  face  must  have  appealed  to 
him,  for  he  halted  and  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Steady,  old  man !  "  he  said,  half  kindly,  while  his 
features  softened.  "  No  doubt  this  has  a  bad  look 
to  you,  but  you'll  justify  it  when  you  know  what's 
behind.  Remember  what  you  promised  me." 

He  went  down,  and  I  went  forward  to  the  galley, 
not  because  my  work  required  it  at  the  time,  but  to 
get  away  from  the  captain's  vicinity  and  gain  time  to 
think.  Mr.  Mitchell — two  bells  having  struck — was 
calling  the  men  out  of  the  forecastles.  There  was 


174.  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

much  work  to  be  done  to  get  the  ship  ready  for  the 
voyage — the  long  tow-line  must  be  coiled  upon  the 
forward  house,  the  anchors  rigged  inboard  and 
lashed,  the  chain  sent  below  and  the  fish-tackle  un- 
rove,  chafing-gear  seized  on  the  rigging  aloft,  and 
the  decks  cleared  of  fenders,  planks,  and  dunnage. 
Glasgow  Mike,  subdued  and  disfigured,  having  given 
signs  of  efficiency,  or,  possibly,  from  being  known  to 
the  mate,  was  sent  aloft  on  the  fore  with  a  marline- 
spike,  ball  of  spun-yarn,  and  a  bundle  of  chafing- 
mats.  He  cursed  volubly,  but  softly,  as  he  passed 
me  at  the  galley  door,  and  mounted  the  rail  to  the 
rigging.  But  Mike's  trouble  was  short-lived.  As 
he  stood  on  the  rail  preparatory  to  ascent,  Mr.  Sar 
gent  came  around  the  corner  of  the  house  and  halted 
before  me. 

"  I  shall  expect,  steward,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will 
keep  cognizant  of  what  happens  to  me  on  this  ship. 
I  shall  demand  that  you  testify  in  my  behalf." 

Before  I  could  reply,  Mike,  above  us  on  the  rail, 
burst  out  with  a  volley  of  billingsgate  directed  at  the 
lawyer. 

"  It's  on  your  damned  account,"  he  said,  in  con 
clusion,  "  that  I'm  here  like  a  shanghaied  Dutch 
man."  Then  he  let  fly  the  marline-spike,  which 
glanced  from  Mr.  Sargent's  head  and  buried  its  point 
a  full  inch  in  the  side  of  the  house.  The  lawyer 
reeled,  but  recovered  his  balance,  and  with  a  furious 
exclamation  wrenched  out  the  implement  and  returned 
it.  His  aim  was  better.  It  was  a  pointed  piece  of 
iron  about  a  foot  long  and  an  inch  in  diameter  at 
its  base.  This  heavy  end  struck  Mike  squarely  in 
the  middle  of  the  forehead,  and  without  a  sound  from 
his  lips  he  stiffened  his  arms  and  fell  backward  into 
the  sea. 


THE  ENEMIES  175 

"  Man  overboard ! "  I  shouted,  and  instantly  the 
whole  ship  was  in  confusion,  with  the  mate's  loud 
orders,  supplemented  by  those  of  the  second  and  third 
officers,  now  up  from  dinner;  the  green  and  still 
stupefied  crew  rushing  about  aimlessly,  and  the  can 
vas  rattling  aloft,  for  the  wheel  had  been  put  down. 
But  over  the  uproar  came  the  stentorian  tones  of 
the  captain  on  the  after  house,  countermanding  all 
orders.  The  wheel  was  put  up,  the  half-swung 
main-yards  hauled  back,  and  men  climbed  down  from 
the  boats  on  the  house. 

"  No  use,  Mr.  Mitchell,"  he  called  to  the  mate 
amidships.  "  I  saw  that.  He  was  dead  before  he 
struck  the  water.  Bring  the  murderer  aft  and  put 
him  in  irons." 

In  the  presence  of  the  whole  crew,  Mr.  William 
Sargent,  a  leading  member  of  the  New  York  bar,  was 
ironed  and  led  below  to  the  lazarette,  and  under  the 
name  of  George  Smithers,  with  myself  as  witness, 
entered  in  the  captain's  official  log  for  the  murder 
of  a  shipmate — John  Carruthers.  He  was  put  upon 
a  diet  of  bread  and  water,  and  every  fifth  day  given 
the  full  allowance  of  the  crew,  according  to  law. 

My  feelings  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  story,  and 
I  will  intrude  them  no  more.  At  the  end  of  two 
months,  pale  and  emaciated — half  starved  on  his 
prisoner's  fare — Mr.  Sargent  begged  piteously  to  be 
allowed  to  work  with  the  rest ;  for  the  darkness  and 
solitude  were  killing  him.  His  request  was  granted ; 
Captain  Waverlie  released  him  and  handed  him  over 
to  the  mercy  of  his  mates,  who,  finding  him  utterly 
ignorant  of  seamanship,  tortured  him  according  to 
their  lights.  He  was  struck,  kicked,  and  cursed  on 
all  occasions.  Almost  useless  on  a  rope  or  in  any 
heavy  dragging  requiring  physical  strength,  yet  oc- 


176  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

cupying  an  able  man's  place,  he  was  an  offense  to  his 
watch-mates,  and  in  the  watch  below  they  added  to 
his  punishment.  He  cleaned  up  the  forecastle,  car 
ried  their  meals  from  the  galley,  cleared  up  the  rem 
nants,  and  often  washed  out  a  shirt  at  the  behest  of 
a  big-shouldered  "  Dutchman  "  or  "  Sou'egian,"  who 
would  call  him  a  "  tarn  farmer."  As  he  could  not 
steer,  the  mate  in  whose  watch  he  belonged  decreed 
that  he  should  stand  lookout  all  night. 

Unable  to  eat  much  of  the  food  fed  to  the  men,  and 
deprived  of  sleep  in  the  afternoon  watch — which  left 
him  but  three  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four — he 
became  weaker  and  weaker,  until,  one  day  when  the 
ship  was  beating  up  toward  the  China  Sea,  the  end 
came.  He  was  collared  by  the  irate  third  officer  for 
some  petty  fault  and  hurled  along  the  deck.  Unable 
to  recover  his  balance,  he  fell  heavily  on  the  sharp 
corner  of  the  main-hatch,  and  lay  still. 

I  assisted  in  lifting  him  to  the  hatch.  He  groaned 
painfully,  and  could  speak  and  tell  his  injury,  but 
could  not  move  a  muscle  below  the  small  of  the  back, 
where  the  sharp  corner  had  impinged.  Captain 
Waverlie  came  forward  and  examined  him. 

"  Take  him  down  in  the  after  cabin,"  he  said. 
"  His  back  is  broken." 

We  carried  him  down  and  laid  him  on  a  transom, 
and  when  the  sailors  who  had  helped  were  gone  the 
captain  directed  me  to  call  the  three  mates  and  the 
boatswain.  I  did  so,  and  they  came,  standing  sheep 
ishly  in  the  forward  door. 

"  I  simply  say  to  you,  once  for  all,"  said  Waverlie, 
"  that  I  want  no  more  of  this.  I've  carried  the  same 
crew  for  years,  and  never  needed  to  strike  or  ill-treat 
a  man.  If  any  one  of  you  ever  again  lifts  his  hand 
to  one  of  my  crew,  or  even  curses  him,  I'll  disrate 


THE  ENEMIES  177 

that  one  on  the  spot,  if  I  don't  put  him  in  irons. 
That's  all." 

Out  they  went,  but  I  remained,  with  tears  starting 
in  my  eyes. 

"  God  bless  you  for  that,  captain,"  I  stammered. 
He  turned  to  me. 

"  Hush,  you  poor  old  fool ! "  he  said,  slowly  and 
yet  gently.  "  Sit  down  in  a  chair  and  listen." 

As  I  obeyed  him,  the  injured  man  spoke. 

"  You  are  satisfied  now,  I  presume,"  he  said,  be 
tween  groans.  "  Now  that  you  have  seen  me  fatally 
injured,  you  stop  the  torture  of  the  rest." 

"  Right,  Mr.  Sargent,"  answered  Waverlie,  as  he 
seated  himself  before  him.  "  Now  that  your  end  has 
come,  it  is  no  longer  needed." 

"  You  fiend !  And  do  you  hope  to  escape  ?  Let 
me  tell  you  that  you  will  not.  My  murder  will  be 
fastened  upon  you,  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God  of 
vengeance." 

"  It  will  not.  But  there  is  a  God  of  vengeance, 
and  that  is  why  you  were  delivered  to  me.  Think 
a  little.  How  will  it  be  done?  You  have  removed 
the  man  who  abducted  you.  Had  you  not,  I  should 
have  arranged  it  myself,  for  I  shanghaied  Glasgow 
Mike  to  get  rid  of  him.  The  driver  of  the  cab,  who 
did  not  see  you  and  whom  you  do  not  know,  was 
one  of  the  two  that  drugged  Mike  and  brought  him 
aboard.  Mike  had  powerful  friends,  and  New  York 
will  ever  remain  unhealthy  to  that  man.  Mr.  Sar 
gent,  you  have  disappeared  from  the  face  of  the 
earth." 

"  Murder  will  out — murder  will  out.  Oh,  you 
devil  of  hate  1  Could  you  not  take  your  chance  with 
a  woman,  like  another  man?  Do  you  think  you 
can  win  her  now — you,  my  murderer?  You  cannot. 


178  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

God  will  prevent  it.  Oh,  my  God !  Irene !  Irene ! 
I  was  to  be  married  in  a  month." 

"  She  will  not  miss  you,"  said  Waverlie,  calmly. 
"  She  never  loved  you.  She  accepted  you  to  please 
her  father,  and  because  I  made  no  overtures  in  that 
line." 

"  You  lie  !  "  shrieked  Sargent. 

"  I  do  not.  As  far  as  a  modest  woman  can,  she 
told  me  of  her  love  for  me — in  such  little  ways  as 
tears  in  the  eyes,  involuntary  speeches,  certain  little 
embarrassments.  As  an  honorable  man  who  did  not 
reciprocate,  I  could  do  nothing  but  let  you  step  in. 
But  I  saw  that  you  stepped  out.  Yet,  if  the  time 
comes  when  I  can  find  room  in  my  heart  for  a  living 
woman,  and  I  find  that  Irene  has  waited,  I  shall  ask 
her  to  be  my  wife." 

"  Curse  you !  Not  wanting  her  yourself,  you  pre 
vented  my  getting  her." 

"  I  did.  I  determined  on  this  course  long  before 
you  first  came  aboard  my  old  bark — before  either  of 
us  knew  Irene.  I  changed  my  features  while  waiting 
for  my  opportunity ;  I  schooled  myself  in  brutality, 
and  when  I  took  charge  of  this  big  ship  I  signed  a 
crew  that  would  be  glad  to  scatter  in  a  foreign  port. 
I  signed  mates  able  to  scatter  them.  Most  of  this 
crew  will  not  see  New  York  again.  You  will  die, 
shortly,  but  you  must  not  die  in  the  hope  of  my 
punishment.  I  stood  that  punishment  years  ago, 
Bill  Sargent." 

The  injured  man's  eyes  opened  wide  at  the  nick 
name,  and  the  captain,  his  voice  taking  on  a  high- 
pitched,  trembling  intonation,  said  to  me : 

"  Steward,  go  into  my  room  and  bring  me  the 
photograph  on  my  desk." 

I  did  so.    It  was  a  large  one  of  Miss  Irene. 


THE  ENEMIES  179 

He  handed  it  to  Sargent,  who  held  it  with  shaky 
hands,  and  stared  at  the  beautiful  face  with  a  look 
I  never  want  to  see  again,  so  full  was  it  of  dumb, 
hungry  misery. 

"  Study  it  well,"  said  Waverlie,  sternly.  "  Look 
on  the  face  of  the  girl  you  love,  who  does  not  love 
you,  whom  you  do  not  deserve — whose  sacrifice  to 
you  would  be  a  black  crime." 

"Oh,  God!  Why  do  you  hate  me  so?  Who  are 
you?" 

"  Steward,  bring  me  those  two  pictures  above 
you." 

I  stood  erect  and  looked.  On  a  small  shelf  against 
the  forward  bulkhead  were  two  photographs  which  I 
had  never  seen  before.  The  moment's  glance  I  al 
lowed  myself  showed  me  a  picture  of  a  sweet-faced, 
laughing  girl  of  the  blond  type,  and  one  of  a  well- 
dressed  boy,  with  broad  nose,  thick  lips,  prominent 
ears,  and  earnest,  honest  expression  of  face.  They 
were  taken  in  the  youth  of  John  Waverlie  and  the 
woman  we  had  taken  to  sea. 

Waverlie  took  them  from  me  and  held  the  one  of 
the  girl  before  the  eyes  of  the  dying  man. 

"  Do  you  know  her?  "  he  almost  hissed.  "  Do  you 
know  her,  Bill?" 

"  Minnie  !  "    It  came  forth  in  a  kind  of  gasp. 

"  Yes — Minnie,  the  girl  we  went  to  school  with, 
Bill." 

"  In  God's  name,  who  are  you?  "  screamed  Sargent, 
rolling  his  head  from  side  to  side. 

"  I  am  all  that's  left  of  the  boy  who  was  once  your 
friend — who  dared  love  and  win  the  girl  you  had  cast 
eyes  upon.  The  rest  of  that  boy  lies  in  a  grave  in 
Potter's  Field  with  Minnie.  And  you  are  the  scoun 
drel  who  poisoned  her  mind  against  me  when  I  had 


180  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

come  to  New  York  to  study,  who  followed  me  and 
employed  Glasgow  Mike  to  shanghai  me — had  you 
forgotten  his  face  and  voice?  I  had  not — who  won 
and  cast  off  the  girl  I  was  to  make  my  wife.  And 
were  this  all,  Bill  Sargent,  I  might  have  spared  you. 
But  when,  after  years  of  searching,  I  found  her, 
married  her,  and  nursed  back  her  health  and  beauty, 
you  came  again.  You  entered  her  nest — it  was  you ; 
the  janitor  you  sent  for  whisky  described  you  well — 
and  for  that  she  killed  herself.  And  because  she 
killed  herself  I  have  killed  you.  Yes,  I  take  it  all 
upon  my  soul,  though  beyond  the  one  knock-down  I 
granted  myself  I  have  not  laid  hands  upon  you.  I 
have  killed  you,  Bill  Sargent,  by  merely  taking  ad 
vantage  of  the  sacred  inviolability  of  ship-masters ; 
for,  after  you  entered  my  forecastle,  my  attitude, 
active  or  passive,  will  bear  the  test  of  legal  investiga 
tion.  I  am  backed  up  by  the  law." 

The  face  of  Sargent,  pale  and  ghastly,  had  taken 
on  an  expression  of  horror  and  fright.  He  said 
nothing — merely  staring  at  Waverlie  piling  up  some 
books  on  the  transom  at  his  feet.  Against  these 
books  Waverlie  leaned  the  three  pictures ;  then  he 
propped  up  Sargent's  head  with  pillows. 

"  There !  "  he  said,  as  he  stood  back.  "  There  is 
the  face  of  the  woman  you  love,  the  face  of  the 
woman  you  killed,  and  the  face  of  the  man  you 
wronged.  Look  on  them  while  you  die." 

Then  he  motioned  me  out  of  the  cabin,  and  fol 
lowed  me. 

I  did  not  enter  the  after  cabin  again  until  Sargent 
had  been  carried  out  for  sea  burial,  three  days  later. 
I  found  the  pictures  still  in  place  against  the  books, 


THE  VITALITY  OF  DENNIS          181 


THE  VITALITY  OF  DENNIS 


crew  of  the  Wilnwrdine  came  down  to  the 
-•-  dock  in  two  express-wagons,  with  their  dun 
nage,  and  climbed,  or  were  lifted,  over  the  rail  ;  then, 
while  the  six  boarding-house  runners  who  had  de 
livered  them  stood  guard  on  the  dock,  and  the  ship 
ping-master  who  had  sold  them  went  below  with  the 
captain  for  his  money,  the  chief  mate  inspected  them 
from  the  poop. 

An  unkempt  muster  it  was.  Three  lay  helpless  on 
the  deck,  others  leaned  for  support  against  the  rail 
or  propped  themselves  against  their  clothes-bags  — 
of  which  there  were  eight  among  the  twenty.  Not  a 
chest  was  there;  but  one  man  guarded  closely  a 
pair  of  new  carpet  slippers;  one  held  tightly  under 
his  arm  a  flannel  shirt;  others  had  other  single  arti 
cles  —  sou'westers,  oil-skin  coats  without  pants,  oil 
skin  pants  without  coats,  dungaree  overalls,  mateless 
boots,  stockings,  and  mittens  ;  and  one  of  them,  the 
raggedest  and  drunkenest  man  erect,  defied  Fate  and 
Cape  Horn  with  an  empty,  three-by-two  pasteboard 
trunk  such  as  little  girls  receive  at  Christmas  for 
dolls'  clothing.  Two  only  seemed  to  know  why  they 
were  there  —  clean,  neatly  dressed  fellows,  who  took 
the  initiative  in  shouldering  their  bags  and  heading 
for  the  forecastle.  They  were  called  back  to  assist 
the  three  helpless  ones  forward,  and  while  they 
were  doing  so  the  captain  and  shipping-master 
appeared. 

"What  d'ye  think  of  the  crew,  Mr.  Saltup?  " 
asked  the  latter. 

The  mate  glowered  into  the  hard  face  of  the  ship 
ping-master  and  said,  contemptuously  :  "  It'll  take 


182  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

me  a  month  to  lick  'em  into  shape.  I  never  saw  a 
good  crew  shipped  out  o'  Frisco  yet." 

"  And  ye  never  will  in  an  American  ship  while  ye 
treat  men  like  wild  animals,"  said  the  other,  who, 
with  his  money  in  his  pocket,  felt  independent  and 
virtuous.  "  Ye  feed  them  on  condemned  navy 
stores,  keep  them  up  in  their  watch  below,  and 
hammer  them  with  pump-brakes ;  then  ye  expect 
good  men  to  ship  deep-water.  All  the  good  men  are 
in  the  coasters.  None  o'  yer  crew  signed  articles 
willingly,  or  knew  where  they  were  goin',  but  two ; 
and  ye  couldn't  ha'  got  them  without  a  cash  ad 
vance  'stead  of  a  note — ye  know  that,  cappen." 

"  I  know  it — blast  their  hides.  I  had  to  have  two 
able  seamen,  at  least.  But  they'll  earn  their  money 
twice  over  this  passage.  I  expect  you  to  watch  that 
they  don't  jump  her." 

"  I'll  watch,  but  don't  ye  fear,  cappen.  Sandy 
and  Dennis  want  to  get  home.  They  bought  drafts 
with  their  advance  and  mailed  them  ahead  to  their 
families.  If  they  didn't  want  to  ride  with  ye  they 
wouldn't  be  here  now." 

The  crew,  those  who  could  work,  were  called  out; 
mooring-chains  and  fenders  taken  in,  a  line  passed 
to  a  tug  alongside,  and  the  Wilmerdme  towed  to 
good  holding-ground,  where  the  anchor  was  dropped, 
and  the  bending  of  sails  and  the  "  licking  into  shape  " 
of  the  crew  were  begun.  No  clubs  were  needed  for 
the  latter.  The  hammer-like  fists  of  the  two  mates 
— both  large  men — answered  every  purpose;  and 
when  a  man  failed  to  answer  "  Sir  "  when  roared  at, 
or  did  not  jump  quickly  enough  to  a  task,  he  felt  the 
weight  of  one — sometimes  two  at  once — of  these 
fists,  and,  if  not  rendered  unconscious,  was  further 
punished  by  boot-heels.  By  noon  half  the  crew  were 


THE  VITALITY  OF  DENNIS          183 

unable  to  go  aloft,  and  the  forecastle  bunks  contained 
three  more  unconscious  men.  The  two  men  spoken 
of  had  escaped  physical  contact  with  their  superiors, 
but  had  received  their  full  share  of  the  cursings  and 
billingsgate  applied;  for  they  were  of  the  crew  and 
must  be  impressed. 

"  I  do  be  thinkin',  Sandy,"  said  one  of  them  as 
they  passed  a  head-earing  on  the  fore  topgallant 
yard,  "  that  this'll  be  a  hot  ship  to  thravel  home  in." 

"Aye,  mun,  that  ut  weel,"  answered  the  other. 
"  But  beggars  maunna  be  choosers,  an'  thirty  shillin' 
a  week  is  muckle  money  t'  pay  oot  t'  a  bardin'- 
hoose.  We've  seened  articles,  an'  we're  oot  in  t' 
stream,  Dennis." 

"  An'  it's  sorry  I  be  thot  I  signed ;  fur  I  don't  like 
the  color  o'  the  mate's  hair." 

The  royal  above  them  was  bent  and  furled,  and 
when  they  and  the  men  with  them  had  finished  the 
topgallant-sail,  they  came  down  to  the  lower  yard, 
the  topsails  having  been  disposed  of  by  another 
gang.  The  chief  mate,  looking  up  from  the  fore 
castle  deck,  took  especial  note  of  the  seamanlike 
way  in  which  Sandy  and  Dennis  handled  themselves, 
and  when  the  foresail  was  finished,  and  the  men  were 
laying  in  to  descend,  he  sang  out  to  the  two  to  re 
main  on  the  yard,  and  he  would  send  up  the  quarter- 
blocks — in  this  case  a  pair  of  triangular  iron  plates, 
containing  two  sheaves,  through  which  the  chain  top 
sail  sheets  would  pass  to  the  bitts  below,  after  reev 
ing  through  the  sheave-holes  in  the  ends  of  the  yard. 
They  were  to  bolt  this  iron  triangle  to  the  under 
side  of  the  sling  band  at  the  middle  of  the  yard, 
then  shackle  on  and  reeve  off  the  sheets,  which  were 
coiled  in  the  fore-top. 

They    comprehended    and    answered    respectfully. 


184  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

The  mate  fastened  the  quarter-blocks,  with  a  ham 
mer  and  wrench,  to  the  bight  of  a  buntline;  they 
hauled  them  up,  and  proceeded  with  the  job,  while 
the  rest  of  the  men  were  driven  aft  to  begin  work  on 
the  mizzen,  and  the  carpenter,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  bolt  on  these  fixtures,  personally  directed  the  job 
from  below  until  finished  and  then  resumed  the  work 
he  was  engaged  upon — calking  the  fore-hatch.  The 
mate  on  the  poop,  looking  forward  occasionally,  saw 
that  the  two  were  reeving  the  sheets,  and  sang  out 
to  "  bear  a  hand  and  lay  aft." 

A  few  minutes  later  a  frightful  cry  rang  out  from 
forward,  followed  by  shouts  from  Sandy,  who  was 
seen  frantically  descending  the  fore  rigging,  and 
from  the  carpenter,  who  appeared  round  the  corner 
of  the  forward  house,  white  of  face,  and  holding  his 
right  arm  tightly. 

"  Man  fallen  from  aloft,  sir,"  he  called,  and 
groaned  with  his  own  pain.  Forward  they  tumbled 
— the  two  mates  and  the  men  on  deck — and  looked  on 
a  horrid  sight.  Dennis  lay  sprawled  on  the  deck, 
one  leg  on  the  fore-hatch,  the  other  doubled  under 
him,  while  his  neck  was  twisted  so  that  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder.  His  face  was  covered  with  blood, 
and  he  breathed  in  short,  jerky  gasps,  which  spoke  of 
nothing  but  punctured  lungs. 

"  Put  him  in  his  bunk,"  said  the  mate,  as  he 
viewed  the  sufferer. 

They  attempted  to  raise  him,  but  the  gasps  were 
merged  in  a  hoarse,  rattling  groan,  and  they  desisted. 

"  Let  him  be,"  said  the  mate ;  "  get  his  mattress 
out  and  lay  him  on  it.  Rig  a  whip  to  the  fore-yard, 
some  o'  you;  this  is  a  hospital  job." 

And  while  Sandy  bent  over  him  and  enjoined  him 
by  all  that  was  dear  in  their  memory  and  friendship 


THE  VITALITY  OF  DENNIS  185 

to  speak  to  him  and  not  to  die,  the  whip  was  rigged, 
the  mattress  brought,  and  poor  Dennis  tenderly 
lifted  to  a  softer  bed.  A  passing  tug  was  hailed, 
whose  captain  willingly  agreed  to  land  the  injured 
man ;  a  broad  plank  was  slipped  under  the  mattress, 
to  which  the  whip  was  bridled,  and  Dennis — now  still 
and  quiet — mattress,  dunnage,  and  all,  was  lifted  out 
of  the  ship  he  regretted  signing  in,  and  sent  ashore 
in  charge  of  the  second  mate  and  Sandy,  who  begged, 
with  a  face  of  misery,  to  be  allowed  to  accompany 
his  friend  to  the  hospital.  "  For,  sir,  we've  been 
sheepmuts  an'  freends  seeven  year  the  noo,  an'  if 
Dennis  is  to  dee,  I  maun  be  wi'  him,"  he  said,  and 
the  mate  in  consenting  proved  that  somewhere  in  his 
salt-seasoned  anatomy  he  had  a  remnant  of  a  heart. 
But  he  cautioned  the  second  mate  to  watch  the 
Scotchman  and  bring  him  back. 

This  officer  returned  alone  an  hour  later,  and  re 
ported  to  the  captain  and  mate  a  wondrous  thing, 
and  a  shameful  thing — that  no  sooner  wras  the  dying 
man  lifted  to  the  dock,  with  his  dunnage,  by  the  tug 
men,  than  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  shouldered  his  bag, 
uttered  an  Irish  whoop,  and,  accompanied  by  his 
sorrowful  friend  Sandy,  raced  up  the  wharf  and  en 
tered  the  short  streets  close  by.  He  had  pursued, 
but  lost  them  around  the  first  corner,  and,  after 
notifying  a  policeman,  had  come  back  for  instruc 
tions. 

But,  in  spite  of  instructions  and  actions  on  the 
part  of  the  furious  captain  and  the  police,  Dennis  and 
Sandy  were  not  found,  and  the  ship  sailed  for  Liver 
pool  without  them,  with  her  carpenter  nursing  a 
black-and-blue  shoulder  for  two  idle  weeks.  For 
Dennis  had  come  down  hard. 

At  Liverpool,  where,  of  course,  the  crew  deserted, 


186  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

the  mystery  was  explained.  The  carpenter  went 
ashore  one  evening,  and,  passing  an  eating-saloon, 
was  accosted  by  a  man  in  the  doorway,  whom  he 
knew.  It  was  Sandy. 

"  Come  awa',  Cheeps,"  he  said.  "  Come ;  Dennis'll 
be  vera  glad  t'  see  ye.  He  swears  ye  ware  t'  savin' 
o'  him." 

The  carpenter  shook  hands  with  the  Scot  and  was 
drawn  within,  where,  seated  at  a  table,  behind  a  huge 
mug  of  ale,  was  Dennis,  bright-eyed  and  wholesome. 
"  An',  Cheeps,"  went  on  Sandy,  after  the  greetings 
and  an  order  for  more  ale,  "  could  ye  inform  me 
aboot  ma  clothes?  I  had  a  boony  ootfit — brawn- 
new.  Wha  got  them  ?  " 

"  Who  got  'em  ?  Why,  the  men,  of  course.  If  it 
wasn't  for  that  bag  of  yours  they'd  ha'  frozen  off 
the  Horn.  Your  shirts  never  got  cold  nor  your  oil 
skins  dry  till  we  struck  the  trades  this  side.  What 
did  you  come  around  in  ?  " 

"  We  shipped  in  the  Harley  Castle  a  fortnight  on, 
Cheeps,"  said  Sandy,  abstractedly.  "  Weel,  weel,  an' 
I've  lost  my  clothes.  But  it's  a'  for  t'  best.  I'm 
sawtisfied." 

"  Satisfied !  You  ought  to  be,  with  sixty  dollars 
advance  that  you  never  earned.  But  what  I  want  to 
know  is,  how  this  Irishman  can  break  himself  to 
pieces  and  then  run  like  a  scared  jackass." 

"  Dead  aisy,  Chips,"  grinned  Dennis.  "  Up  on 
the  yard  we  seed  they  were  all  aft  an'  clus  inboard, 
an'  cudent  see  us  in  the  slings.  An'  you  were  be 
neath  us,  engaged  with  your  corkin'-mallet,  unsus 
picious  like ;  and  Sandy  here,  at  my  request,  slugged 
me  on  the  nose — wance,  twiste — murder !  but  it  hurt ; 
an'  I  smeared  the  blood  from  me  nose  all  over  me 
face,  an'  shuk  hands  wid  Sandy — fur  I  didn't  know 


THE  HELIX  187 

how  he'd  make  it — and  shlid  down  the  topsa'l  sheets 
till  I  was  six  feet  above  ye,  Chips.  By  the  powers, 
ye  looked  temp  tin'!  An'  then  I  jumped — " 

"And  came  down  boots  first  on  my  neck,  and 
yelled  blue  murder,  and  stretched  out  and  died," 
interrupted  the  carpenter.  "  I've  heard  that  a  Jew 
can't  make  a  living  in  Scotland  and  Ireland.  Now 
I  know  why."  But  a  grin  of  forgiveness  overspread 
the  carpenter's  face  as  he  added :  "  It  looks  as 
though  the  drinks  were  on  me,  boys — something 
stronger  than  ale,  too.  What'll  it  be  ?  " 


THE  HELIX 

"T  li  7E  can  get  up  a  jury  mainmast,  easy  enough," 

VV  said  Captain  Swarth,  as  he  glanced  around 
at  his  shattered  deck;  "but  how'll  we  keep  it  up? 
Both  main  channels  shot  away,  and  not  a  ring-bolt, 
cleat,  bitt,  or  cavil  left  abaft  the  mainmast.  What 
d'ye  make  of  it,  Yank?" 

Yank  Tate,  the  carpenter,  an  expert  in  makeshifts, 
and  the  most  valuable  man  in  that  pirate  crew,  an 
swered,  slowly : 

"  I've  been  thinkin',  capt'n — thinkin'  hard.  If  I 
had  tools  I  could  work,  for  we  have  the  material; 
but  a  big  round  shot's  gone  clean  through  my  tool- 
chest,  and  I  can't  find  anything  but  the  broad-axe 
and  the  saw.  We'll  have  to  stay  the  mainmast  aft 
by  a  cat-stay,  and  forward  by  two  to  the  'midship 
moorin'  bitts ;  then  rig  a  leg-o'-mutton  on  the  main, 
for  we  can't  sling  a  gaff." 

"  But  what'll  we  set  up  the  cat-stay  to  ?  "  asked 
Angel  Todd,  the  mate,  his  long  and  solemn  face 
more  solemn  than  usual  at  the  problem.  "  There's 


188  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

nothing  intact  but  the  wheel  and  binnacle,  and  they 
won't  stand  the  strain." 

"  Pass  a  rope  around  under  the  stern,"  answered 
Yank,  "  long  enough  to  clear  the  wheel  and  binnacle 
and  set  it  up  to  that." 

"  Right,"  said  the  captain.  "  Yank,  you're  a 
genius.  Get  to  work,  Angel." 

"  How'll  we  splice  wire  rope  ?  "  asked  the  mate. 
"  She's  wire-rigged  everywhere.  I  never  spliced  it — 
never  saw  it  before." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Swarth,  "  nor  heard  of  it ;  but  it  can 
be  spliced ;  it's  got  to  be." 

They  were  taking  stock  after  the  running  fight. 
Five  miles  to  the  north,  rolling  heavily  in  the  trough 
with  all  canvas  furled,  lay  the  English  war-brig  that 
had  chased  them.  It  had  been  a  stern  chase  and  a 
long  one,  dead  before  the  wind,  during  which  Swarth, 
unwilling  to  luff  and  lose  headway,  had  held  his  fire 
but  for  an  occasional  shot  from  a  small  stern  gun, 
and  had  watched  his  craft  being  slowly  disintegrated 
by  the  well-aimed  fire  of  the  Englishman.  The  after 
part  had  suffered  most ;  the  taffrail  and  the  quarter 
rails  to  nearly  amidships  were  ripped  and  shattered, 
while  the  cabin  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  pile 
of  kindling-wood ;  the  main  channels  were  gone,  and 
with  no  support  from  the  rigging  a  solid  shot  im 
bedded  in  the  mainmast  just  above  the  deck  had 
been  enough  to  send  it  crashing  down  forward, 
springing  the  fore  lower  and  topsail  yards  as  it  met 
them,  and  breaking  squarely  in  two  just  below  the 
crosstrees  as  it  struck  the  rail.  Then,  when  the  sub 
merging  canvas  pulled  the  two  fragments  overboard, 
Swarth  might  have  given  up.  But  the  pursuing 
war-craft  did  not  bear  away  after  firing  this  shot ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  luffed  still  farther,  and  as  she 


THE  HELIX  189 

rolled  in  the  trough  of  the  sea  her  shaking  canvas 
began  to  come  in,  while  smoke  arose  from  amidships. 
So,  surmising  that  she  was  suffering  from  internal 
disorder,  he  went  on,  dragging  the  fallen  spars  in  his 
wake. 

She  was  a  brigantine,  acquired  by  Swarth  in  the 
usual  manner,  and,  as  Angel  had  said,  wire-rigged 
everywhere — one  of  the  experiments  that  ship 
builders  are  ever  ready  to  turn  out  with  each  new 
invention.  Not  only  were  shrouds,  stays,  and  back 
stays  of  this  newly  devised  wire  rope,  but  also  the 
running-gear — halyards,  braces,  lifts,  sheets,  and 
tacks — in  all  its  turnings  and  doublings  down  to  the 
last  part  for  hauling  and  belaying,  was  of  the  re 
fractory  material ;  and  not  only  was  it  wire  rope,  but 
steel-wire  rope  that,  when  slackened,  curled  into  the 
spiral  of  the  original  coil.  In  all  her  maze  of  cordage 
there  was  not  a  piece  of  hemp  or  manila  larger  than 
a  halter,  nor  longer  than  twenty-five  fathoms — about 
the  length  of  the  fore  brace. 

Splicing  wire — like  chemistry  and  materia  medico, 
— is  an  experimental  science.  As  Swarth  had  de 
clared,  it  can  be  done  by  men  who  have  spliced  soft 
rope ;  but  not  at  the  first  attempt.  Those  very  able 
able-seamen  of  that  crew  got  the  heavy  wreck  of  the 
mainmast  aboard '  with  but  little  trouble,  trimmed 
it,  and  disconnected  the  topmast.  They  sent  down 
the  fore  royal-yard,  sawed  it  lengthwise  into  battens 
to  mend  the  damaged  lower  and  topsail  yards,  and 
used  up  most  of  the  soft  royal  running-gear  in  the 
lashing  thereof.  With  the  lighter  main  topmast  for 
a  derrick,  they  up-ended  the  shortened  mainmast, 
and  lashed  the  new  heel  to  the  stump  with  more  of 
the  hemp  and  manila;  then,  with  the  urgent  neces 
sity  of  properly  securing  this  jury  mainmast,  they 


190  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

found  themselves  confronted  with  the  problem  of 
wire-splicing. 

They  avoided  it  in  setting  up  the  two  mainstays. 
Seamanship,  which  to  a  seaman  is  the  will  of  Provi 
dence,  decrees  that  masts  shall  first  be  secured  from 
forward ;  and  they  found  that  two  still  intact  and 
opposing  legs  of  the  main  rigging  would  just  reach 
from  the  masthead  to  the  mooring-bitts  amidships, 
and  these  they  tautened  in  the  ordinary  way  with 
lanyards  through  the  dead-eyes ;  but  the  rest  of  the 
main  rigging  was  broken  or  stranded,  too  short  to 
reach  anywhere;  and  to  steady  the  mast  from  aft 
they  had  only  the  main  topmast  backstays,  the  fore 
royal  backstays,  and  the  fore  royal-stay — five  long 
pieces  of  steel-wire  rope  about  the  size  of  clothes-line, 
equal  in  tensile  strength  to  six-inch  hemp  or  manila, 
but,  in  the  judgment  of  these  old-school  seamen,  very 
weak  to  hold  the  strain  of  a  heavy  lower  mast.  They 
would  need  to  double  it  many  times. 

So  they  would  first  splice  a  collar,  or  loop,  in  one 
end  to  slip  over  the  masthead  and  rest  on  the  cleat 
that  Yank  Tate  had  placed  there  for  the  purpose; 
and  they  tried  it,  one  man  after  another.  It  looked 
simple — just  the  tucking  of  six  ends  under  six 
strands,  and  tucking  again,  and  once  more.  But, 
oh,  the  bloodshed  and  suffering,  the  groans  and 
maledictions  attending  that  job!  Men  who,  a  few 
hours  before,  had  calmly  faced  gun-fire,  who  had 
seen  some  of  their  number  shattered  and  dismem 
bered  by  solid  shot,  who  were  accustomed  to  hand- 
to-hand  combats  with  knife  or  cutlass,  winced  and 
complained  as  the  refractory  ends  of  steel  sliced  their 
hands  and  wrists. 

But  at  last  the  splice  was  done — looking  much  like 
a  bundle  of  fagots — and  the  collar  sent  aloft  to  slip 


THE  HELIX  191 

over  the  masthead.  But  now,  in  view  of  the  pleni 
tude  of  wire  rope  and  its  uncompromising  stiffness,. 
Swarth  decided,  first,  that  it  would  only  be  practica 
ble  to  set  up  the  kinky  cat-stay  through  pulley 
blocks,  one  for  each  doubling;  next,  that  with  the 
small  number  of  strong  blocks  still  serviceable — the 
upper  peak  and  throat  halyard  blocks,  six  sheaves 
in  all — it  would  be  advisable  to  conserve  these  up 
aloft  and  pass  the  lower  turns  around  under  the 
stern.  This  obviated  the  long  rope  suggested  by 
Yank,  but  involved  the  splicing,  end  to  end,  of  all 
the  rope,  with  long  splices. 

Painfully  the  blood-weary  cutthroats  went  at  it, 
and  it  required  the  moral  suasion  of  Swarth,  Angel, 
and  Yank,  each  equipped  with  an  iron  belaying-pin, 
to  keep  them  at  it.  And  when  it  is  known  that  a 
long  splice  in  a  steel-wire  rope  represents  the  acme  of 
modern  seamanship,  it  can  be  imagined  what  a  task 
it  was  for  these  sore-fingered  tyros  to  join  the  five 
pieces  into  one  long  rope  with  junctures  small  enough 
to  travel  through  the  blocks.  Long  before  it  was 
done  Yank  Tate  had  slung  these  blocks  to  the  mast 
head  just  below  the  collar,  and,  by  means  of  a  stag 
ing  rigged  under  the  stern,  had  nailed  a  succession  of 
cleats  to  the  counter  to  keep  each  turn  of  the  rope 
in  place,  clear  of  its  neighbors.  It  was  a  wet  job 
for  Yank,  as  the  craft  was  still  charging  along 
through  a  lumpy  sea,  and  every  now  and  then  he 
went  under  as  the  stern  sank.  But  not  being 
troubled  with  the  sores  and  sorrows  of  the  others, 
he  did  not  repine — even  remaining  to  grease  the 
cleats  and  planking. 

Nor  did  he  repine  when,  at  mid-day  of  the  third 
day  of  work,  the  wind  having  died  away  coincident 
with  the  finishing  of  the  splices,  the  craft  rolled  both 


192  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

rails  under  and  made  his  place  on  the  staging  a  place 
of  danger.  His  task  now  was  to  straighten  out  those 
kinky  coils  of  steel  wire  and  lay  each  turn  in  its  bed 
between  the  cleats  as  those  on  deck  passed  it  around ; 
but  Yank  had  the  born  mechanic's  love  of  a  good 
job. 

The  final  setting-up  of  that  cat-stay  was  easy;  a 
tackle  clapped  onto  each  part,  as  it  led  downward 
from  its  block  above,  tautened  it,  and  a  spun-yarn 
racking  held  it  while  they  shifted  the  tackle  to  the 
next  part.  A  fathom  or  two  of  end  remained  when 
the  job  was  done,  and  this,  after  nailing  the  part  to 
the  side,  they  allowed  to  trail  overboard,  as  Yank 
emphatically  and  consistently  had  refused  to  cut  steel 
wire  with  his  broad-axe.  There  was  a  curious  re 
semblance  to  shrouds  without  ratlines  in  the  six  parts 
of  wire  rope  leading  up  from  each  side;  and  this,  in 
fact,  was  just  about  what  they  were. 

A  little  sail-making  reduced  the  torn  mainsail  to 
a  three-cornered  "  mutton-leg,"  and  they  hoisted  it 
at  once.  Swarth  would  now  have  gone  further,  and 
sent  up  the  topmast,  to  which  they  could  have  set  a 
jib,  upside-down;  but  the  inflamed  condition  of  his 
men's  hands  made  such  a  step  unwise  at  present; 
their  hands  hurt  them  more  than  did  the  impact  on 
their  heads  of  belaying-pins,  and  under  stress  their 
line  of  least  resistance  would  be  mutiny.  So  he 
waited,  while  the  hot  afternoon  wore  on,  and  whistled 
for  a  wind  to  blow  them  on  their  way — due  south  to 
their  island  retreat,  where  they  could  properly  refit 
and  recuperate. 

They  had  dropped  the  smoking  English  war-brig 
below  the  horizon  late  in  the  first  day  of  flight,  and 
now  calculated  that,  unless  she  had  conquered  the 
fire  and  resumed  the  chase,  there  were  fully  one  hun- 


THE  HELIX  193 

dred  and  fifty  miles  between  them  when  the  wind 
had  failed. 

The  brigantine,  with  canvas  flapping  as  she  rolled, 
swung  slowly  around  the  compass,  heading  any  way 
that  she  was  thrown  by  the  varying  heave  of  an  ugly 
cross  sea,  the  dominant  motion  of  which  seemed  to 
be,  not  from  the  direction  the  wind  had  last  come 
from,  but  out  of  the  west.  And  a  filmy  mist  arising 
on  the  western  horizon  at  about  four  o'clock  indi 
cated  to  Swarth  that  wind  would  follow  the  sea  from 
here. 

He  ceased  his  whistling,  ordered  the  flying-jib 
taken  in,  and  the  men  obeyed  him  painfully,  grum 
bling  over  their  sores  and  making  hard  work  of  an 
easy  job.  There  must  have  been  some  kind  of 
poison  from  the  wire,  for  their  hands  were  swelling. 

The  filmy  mist  spread  rapidly  toward  them,  blot 
ting  out  the  western  sun  and  eventually  the  eastern 
sky.  Yet  it  presented  a  curious  seeming  of  trans 
parency — the  horizon  on  all  sides  was  distinct,  and 
the  sky  above  still  looked  blue.  But  it  was  an  un 
natural  blue,  and  there  was  a  closeness  to  the  air 
that  made  breathing  difficult. 

The  men  lounged  and  shuffled  nervously  about  the 
deck.  Angel  and  Yank  conversed  in  low  tones  near 
the  poop  steps,  and  the  captain  often  consulted  a 
new-fangled  instrument  called  a  barometer,  which, 
though  it  showed  a  very  low  reading,  gave  him  little 
light. 

It  suddenly  grew  darker.  Overhead  the  blue  had 
become  gray,  and  a  condensation  of  the  filmy  mist 
was  forming  a  cloud.  It  became  smaller  and  blacker, 
with  tints  of  purple  in  the  creases  and  a  glistening 
rim  on  its  western  edge.  It  hovered  directly  over 
the  rolling  craft  and  descended  until  it  seemed  that 


194  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

the  fore  royal  pole  had  almost  punctured  it.  Here 
it  remained,  and  a  puff  of  hot  wind  filled  the  sails, 
then  died  away. 

"How  are  you  heading  now?"  asked  Swarth, 
quietly,  to  the  helmsman. 

"  South  an'  by  east,  sir,"  answered  the  man. 

"  Bring  her  due  south  when  the  wind  comes.  It's 
our  course,  but  the  Lord  knows  where  it'll  hit  us 
from.  Angel,"  he  called,  "  haul  down  the  jib  and 
clew  up  the  foresail  and  fore  topgallant-sail." 

As  he  spoke  a  white  light  blinded  them,  and  a 
deafening  report  shook  the  whole  fabric  of  hull,  spar, 
and  cordage.  For  a  time  not  a  man  aboard  could 
see  or  hear,  though  they  could  feel  a  warm  deluge 
of  rain  and  a  furious  blast  of  wind  which  seemingly 
came  from  all  directions.  Angel  Todd  groped  his 
way  to  the  jib  and  fore  topgallant  halyards,  casting 
them  off;  then  he  called  to  the  men  to  man  clew 
lines  and  down-haul,  and  a  few,  who  heard  faintly 
before  their  sight  returned,  responded  in  the  dark 
ness.  But  they  knew  by  the  feel  of  the  ropes  they 
pulled  that  the  jib  was  in  ribbons  and  the  topgallant- 
sail  aback.  Then,  as  the  darkness  and  dullness 
cleared  from  eyes  and  ears,  they  saw  that  the  craft 
had  sternway  and  heard  their  captain's  thundering 
roar  coming  to  them  against  the  wind : 

"  Lay  aft  here  two  hands  to  the  wheel !  Swan- 
son's  struck  dead." 

Two  came  and  found  Swarth  at  the  wheel,  with  a 
prostrate  figure  at  his  feet.  There  was  a  curious, 
pungent  odor  in  the  air,  which  lasted  but  a  moment, 
then  was  blown  away.  The  lightning  had  dodged 
the  taller  foremast  and  sought  the  best  conductor — 
the  wire  that  led  overboard. 

"  Wheel's  hard  aport,"  said  Swarth,  releasing  it 


THE  HELIX  195 

to  them.  "  Due  south  when  the  canvas  fills.  This 
wind's  out  o'  the  north,  and  it's  dead  fair  again." 
Then  he  called  forward  to  furl  the  topgallant-sail, 
but  to  leave  the  foresail  as  it  was. 

Slowly  the  craft  backed  around,  and,  as  the  for 
ward  canvas  flapped  and  filled,  forged  ahead  and 
settled  down  to  the  course  Swarth  had  given.  The 
squall  was  pressing  the  seas  to  a  flat  surface  of  suds, 
but  it  was  much  lighter  now,  as  though  the  lightning 
stroke  had  cleared  the  air;  yet  the  sun  was  still 
hidden. 

The  jury  mainmast  had  stood  the  pressure  well; 
but  as  the  mutton-leg  made  steering  before  that 
furious  wind  too  difficult  for  safety,  Swarth  took  it 
in — an  awful  job  for  those  puffed  and  lacerated 
hands — and  the  craft  sped  on  under  her  foresail, 
topsail,  and  fore  topmast  staysail.  Then  they  lifted 
the  dead  man  forward,  but  had  not  got  him  off  the 
shattered  poop  before  he  wriggled  and  spoke,  and 
they  laid  him  down  and  questioned  him.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  lightning  stroke,  he  said,  but  com 
plained  of  a  prickly  sensation  all  through  him.  Soon 
he  could  walk,  and,  later  on,  work. 

The  squall  steadied  to  a  gray  gale,  and  mountain 
seas  pursued  the  crippled  vessel;  but  she  rode  them 
well,  her  only  danger  being  the  risk  of  broaching-to 
from  the  almost  helpless  condition  of  the  helmsman; 
but,  as  night  came  down,  Yank  and  Angel  stationed 
themselves,  ready  to  help  should  their  hands  give 
out,  and  thus  equipped  they  steered  on  through  the 
darkness  by  the  compass  alone,  there  being  neither 
star  nor  cloud  to  range  by.  With  a  sore-handed 
man  to  hold  the  reel,  Swarth  hove  and  hauled  in  the 
log  every  two  hours  until  daylight.  Ten  knots  even 
she  had  made,  he  said,  all  through  the  night,  and 


196  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

before  that  good  fair  gale  died  out  they  would  be 
many  hundred  miles  away  from  their  enemy,  even 
should  she  still  be  afloat. 

The  two  men  who  came  to  the  wheel  at  six  that 
morning  made  such  bad  work  of  it  that  Swarth  pro 
fanely  rebuked  them  and  called  for  two  others ;  but 
there  was  no  improvement  in  the  steering,  and  he 
examined  the  hands  of  his  crew.  They  were  swollen 
out  of  all  proportion,  painful  to  the  extreme,  and 
they  were  unable  to  close  their  fingers  around  spokes 
or  ropes.  So  he  placed  Angel  and  Yank  at  the 
wheel  and  sent  them  forward  with  poultices.  In  half 
an  hour  they  all  looked  as  though  they  had  donned 
boxing-gloves;  and,  conscious  of  their  utter  useless- 
ness  at  working  ship,  they  essayed  the  next  best  thing 
— they  climbed  to  the  forecastle  deck  to  keep  lookout. 
Soon  one  of  them  called  out : 

"  Sail  ho ! "  and  Swarth,  looking  where  he  pointed, 
observed  a  craft  hove  to  on  the  starboard  bow,  not 
a  mile  away,  and  heading  across  their  course.  Her 
yards  were  braced  nearly  in  the  line  of  sight,  which 
had  prevented  their  seeing  her  before. 

Swarth  reached  for  his  glasses,  but  as  he  brought 
them  to  bear  another  shout  came  from  forward,  fol 
lowed  by  cries  of  amazement,  and  he  looked  where 
they  now  pointed.  There  on  the  starboard  beam, 
just  above  the  horizon,  glowing  faintly  through  the 
storm-cloud,  was  the  sun — rising  in  the  west. 

There  was  no  mistaking  it  for  the  moon,  even 
though  the  moon  had  been  full  at  the  time  and  could 
rise  at  seven  in  the  morning;  nothing  but  the  sun 
could  penetrate  that  thick  sky.  Swarth  involun 
tarily  looked  at  the  compass,  but  it  told  him  nothing ; 
the  brigantine  was  heading  south. 

The  men  came  running  aft,  and  tremulously  asked 


THE  HELIX  197 

questions  which  neither  Swarth,  Angel,  nor  Yank 
could  answer.  While  they  watched  the  luminary  it 
rose  higher — unmistakably  so.  It  was  the  sun, 
rising  in  the  west;  but  why? 

What  human  mind  can  remain  tranquil  before  such 
a  violation  of  the  laws  of  nature?  Wonder  and  per 
plexity  grew  to  terror.  They  clutched  one  another, 
and  crouched  down,  with  elbows  raised,  as  though 
to  ward  off  a  blow.  Swarth,  pale  and  silent,  stared 
at  the  rising  orb ;  Yank  Tate's  face  was  a  picture  of 
childish  fright  as  he  helped  Angel  steer;  Angel, 
doughty  ex-missionary,  steered  a  seamanly  course, 
but  cast  the  burden  upon  the  Lord.  With  his  eyes 
on  the  compass,  his  lips  moved  in  prayer. 

A  hail  came  from  over  to  starboard. 

"  Shorten  down  and  round  to,  or  I'll  sink  you ! " 

Not  two  lengths  away  was  a  black  brig  squaring 
away  to  a  parallel  course.  She  was  under  whole  top 
sails,  but  the  fore  topgallant-sail  was  going  up  and 
her  port  battery  was  manned — the  crews  in  position 
and  the  black  muzzles  protruding  from  the  open 
ports.  There  was  no  escape.  They  had  left  that 
brig  three  hundred  miles  to  the  north.  How  could 
she  have  pursued  them,  missed  them,  and  waited  for 
them  here?  It  meant  a  detour  and  twenty  knots  of 
speed,  which  is  beyond  the  power  of  sailing 
craft.  It  was  a  mystery  equal  to  that  of  the  western 
sun. 

"  I've  got  you  under  my  guns,  Swarth ! "  roared 
an  officer  through  a  trumpet.  "  Heave  to  or  I'll  give 
you  a  broadside !  " 

"  My  men  are  all  crippled,"  answered  the  pale  but 
self-contained  Swarth,  "  and  we  cannot  handle  sail. 
If  I  round  to  the  spars  will  go." 

"  Round  to  and  let  them  go !  " 


198  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  Down  with  the  wheel,  Angel ! "  said  Swarth. 
"  The  game's  up  !  " 

Swarth  was  but  partly  right.  The  craft  rolled  her 
fore  topmast  out  in  three  rolls,  but  the  well-stayed 
jury  mast  remained  in  place. 

Three  hours  later,  moored  to  stanchions  in  the 
man-of-war's  'tween-deck  by  leg-irons,  Swarth  and 
his  crew  received  a  visit  from  the  captain.  He  was 
a  blunt  and  candid  soul,  and  greeted  Swarth  pleas 
antly. 

"  I've  called  you  all  kinds  of  a  damned  scoundrel, 
Swarth,"  he  said,  "  since  I've  hunted  you ;  but  I 
never  called  you  a  damned  fool.  What  did  you  come 
back  for?  Did  you  think  I  couldn't  put  out  the  fire 
in  the  galley  and  mend  my  steering-gear?  " 

"Come  back?"  queried  the  pirate.  "I  don't 
know — how  did  you  get  ahead  of  us?  " 

"  I  didn't,"  chuckled  the  captain.  "  If  you'd  only 
known  you  could  have  sunk  me.  I'm  bound  to  port 
now  to  get  more  powder  and  get  you  hanged.  The 
fire  threatened  the  magazine  and  we  doused  it. 
By  the  way,  your  wheel  and  binnacle  are  just  what 
I  need  to  replace  mine,  that  you  knocked  endways 
with  the  same  shot  that  hit  the  galley  stove.  So  I 
took  them  out  before  scuttling  your  old  tub.  But 
where  did  you  get  that  compass?  The  needle  points 
south." 

"  It  does?  "  queried  Swarth.  "  It  never  did  with 
me — wait,  yes,  by  Gawd.  We  steered  due  south  by 
it,  and  fetched  back  here.  That's  why  the  sun  rose 
in  the  west.  But  what — why,  the  lightning!  It 
must  have  changed  it — somehow !  " 

"  Somehow,  yes,"  repeated  the  captain,  with  a 
grin.  "  We  figured  it  out  before  we  scuttled  her. 
That  was  a  fine  jury  main  rigging  you  put  up — a  coil 


THE  SHARK  199 

of  wire  insulated  by  wood,  around  a  magnet,  with 
one  end  up  above  the  coils  and  the  other  over  the 
side.  A  little  science  is  a  dangerous  thing,  Swarth." 


THE  SHARK 

THERE  was  a  startled  yell  from  aloft,  and 
Green,  the  ordinary  seaman  of  the  port  watch, 
was  seen  clinging  tightly  to  the  jackstay  of  the  cro'- 
jack  yard,  and  peering  downward.  He  had  dropped 
his  marline-spike,  which,  turning  slowly  over  as  it 
fell,  struck  the  water,  point  first. 

"  My  God,  sir,"  he  sang  out  to  the  mate  below  him 
on  the  poop,  "  d'you  see  that  shark?  He's  long  as 
the  jib-boom,  sir." 

Mr.  Good  stepped  to  the  taffrail  and  peered  over, 
just  in  time  to  see  the  tip  of  a  dorsal  fin  disappearing 
from  view,  and  a  long,  dark-green,  shadowy  form 
that  merged,  as  he  looked,  into  the  deep  blue  of  the 
quiet  sea.  The  ripples,  splashed  by  the  marline- 
spike,  obstructed  his  vision ;  but  Green,  higher  in  the 
^tir,  could  see  farther. 

"  He's  swallowed  the  spike,  sir ! "  he  called,  as  he 
stared  down  with  wide-open  eyes.  "  He  swam  down 
and  caught  it!  He  gi'  me  such  a  turn,  sir,  when  I 
first  seen  him,  that  I  dropped  it." 

"  Look  out  you  don't  drop  yourself !  "  growled  the 
mate,  good-humoredly.  "  Come  down  and  get  an 
other." 

Green  started  in  along  the  foot-rope,  and  as  Mr. 
Good  resumed  his  scrutiny  of  the  smooth,  heaving 
swell  he  was  joined  by  the  helmsman,  old  Munson, 
the  patriarch  of  the  crew  and  a  privileged  character, 
who,  there  being  no  wind,  dared  leave  the  wheel.  As 


200  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

they  looked  a  long  patch  of  dark  green  appeared, 
then  the  indistinct  outlines  of  a  man-eating  shark — 
not  so  long  as  the  jib-boom,  but  fully  fifteen  feet  in 
length.  He  "  rose  "  his  dorsal  fin  and  lay  quiet,  just 
beneath  the  surface  and  six  feet  abaft  the  rudder. 
Old  Munson  groaned  a  weary  oath  and  said : 

"  He's  come  for  one  of  us,  sir.  He'll  follow  along 
for  seven  days,  and  then  he'll  get  one  of  us.  Every 
seven  days  a  man  goes  with  a  shark  in  the  wake,  sir. 
In  my  last  ship — " 

"  Never  mind  your  last  ship,  old  man,"  interrupted 
the  mate.  "  Take  the  wheel  again ;  and  don't  stir 
the  men  up  with  shark  yarns.  I'll  fix  that  gentle 
man." 

He  went  forward  and  returned  with  a  harpoon; 
and,  having  met  Green  on  his  way  for  a  marline-spike, 
brought  him  along,  and  had  him  get  out  from  the 
lazarette  a  coil  of  small  rope,  the  end  of  which  he 
fastened  to  the  harpoon. 

"  It's  a  dead-easy  shot,"  he  said,  as  he  mounted  the 
taffrail.  "  Stand  by  to  pay  out  lively  when  I  hit 
him,"  he  added  to  Green,  "  and  be  ready  to  catch  a 
turn." 

Holding  on  with  his  left  hand  to  the  bail  of  the 
spanker-boom,  he  poised  the  harpoon  a  moment, 
then,  softly  repeating,  "  Dead  easy,"  hurled  it  down 
ward.  There  was  a  scarcely  perceptible  flirt  of  the 
shark's  tail,  a  back  push  of  his  fins,  a  flurry  of  the 
surface  water,  and  the  shark  had  moved  about  a  foot 
to  starboard.  The  harpoon  was  seeking  the  bottom. 

"  Haul  in !  "  yelled  the  mate — for  Green  was  duti 
fully  paying  out.  "  Hell! — how'd  I  miss?  " 

He  looked  down  at  the  quiescent  brute,  and  saw, 
or  thought  he  saw,  one  wicked  little  eye  close  in  a 
wink. 


THE  SHARK  201 

"  All  right,  my  joker!  "  he  said,  angrily.  "  We'll 
try  again." 

He  tried  again  and  again — and  many  times,  to  no 
avail.  The  shark  was  quicker  of  eye  and  movement 
than  he,  and  at  last  he  gave  it  up. 

"  Get  to  your  work ! "  he  said,  sourly,  to  Green. 
"  Finish  seizin'  off  those  gaskets." 

"  Please,  Mr.  Good,"  said  Green,  earnestly,  "  put 
me  at  somethin'  else.  I'll  fall,  sir.  I  know  I'll  fall, 
with  him  a-lookin'  up  at  me." 

"Get  up  on  the  cro'-jack  yard!"  roared  the  in 
censed  officer.  "  Nice  state  of  affairs,  this  is  !  Afraid 
to  go  aloft!  What's  the  matter  wi'  you,  hey?  Up 
wi'  you ! " 

Pale  of  face,  Green  went  forward  for  another 
marline-spike.  Mr.  Good,  fuming,  and  uttering 
profane  comments  on  the  situation,  began 
coiling  the  wet  rope  on  the  top  of  the  house  to 
dry. 

"  He's  right,  sir,"  ventured  old  Munson  at  the 
wheel.  "  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  went  first." 

"  Will  you  dry  up  ?  "  said  Mr.  Good,  softly  but  in 
tensely,  in  Munson's  ear.  "  I'll  get  that  shark  yet, 
but  if  I  hear  any  more  croaking  from  you  I'll  have 
you  aloft  night  and  day." 

Munson  subsided,  and  the  irritated  Mr.  Good  gave 
over  his  coiling  job  and  went  forward  again,  bring 
ing  back  this  time  a  shark-hook  and  chain,  with  a 
large  piece  of  fat  pork  for  bait.  Also  did  he  bring 
Green,  who  had  secured  a  spike,  but  had  not  reached 
the  rigging. 

"  Now,"  said  the  mate,  as  he  fastened  the  rope  to 
the  chain,  "  you  stand  by  with  the  end  of  the  spanker 
sheet,  and,  if  he  takes  the  hook,  make  a  runnin'  bow 
line — a  slip-noose,  you  know — around  the  line,  so  as 


202  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

to  slip  it  down  over  his  head  and  bring  him  up  by 
the  tail.  Understand?" 

Green  did,  and,  dropping  his  spike,  cleared  away 
the  rope  named,  while  Mr.  Good  gently  lowered  the 
baited  hook  to  the  water.  The  shark  backed  away 
from  it  a  foot  or  two  as  it  floated  astern,  then,  cau 
tiously  approaching  it,  nosed  it  a  little,  and  nibbled 
the  pork  from  the  hook. 

"  Well,  blast  your  heart  and  soul!  "  exclaimed  the 
mate,  in  amazement.  Then  he  hurled  Green's  mar 
line-spike  at  him,  but  missed. 

"  What's  going  on  here?  "  said  a  voice  behind  him, 
and  Mr.  Good  turned  to  face  the  captain,  a  man 
the  antithesis  of  himself  in  manner  and  appearance. 
The  mate  was  old,  bearded,  bluff,  and  profane;  the 
captain,  young,  smooth  of  face,  voice,  and  outline; 
the  mate,  tall,  thin,  and  angular,  but  with  an  ever- 
present  rough  good-humor;  the  captain,  short,  fat, 
solemn,  sour,  and  religious.  "  Your  language  is  pain 
ful  to  listen  to,  Mr.  Good,"  he  continued.  "  What 
are  you  doing?  " 

"  Trying  to  catch  that  hell-fired  shark,  cappen ; 
and  look  at  what  he  did — ate  the  pork  and  left  the 
hook.  WTho'd  think  he  knew  enough?  " 

"  Why  not,  sir  ?  "  said  old  Munson,  in  his  raspy 
voice,  turning  and  looking  earnestly  at  the  mate. 
"  Everybody  knows  that  sharks  are  inhabited  by  the 
souls  of  wicked  skippers  and  mates  who  were  hung 
for  murdering  sailors.  I  may  have  sailed  with  that 
same — " 

"  Will  you  shut  up  ? "  then  roared  the  mate. 
"  If  you  don't,  I  may  be  a  shark  myself  some 
day." 

"  You  might  find  something  better  to  do  with  your 
time,  Mr.  Good,"  said  the  captain,  peering  over  the 


THE  SHARK 

taffrail.  "  That  is  one  of  God's  creatures.  Why 
should  you  wish  to  kill  it  ?  " 

"Why?  Because  it's  a  damned  shark,  cappen. 
A  murdering,  man-eating  shark." 

"  It  has  done  you  no  harm,  Mr.  Good."  The  cap 
tain  looked  aloft.  "  I  see  the  wind  is  hauling,  and 
your  yards  will  bear  a  little  attention." 

Caught  in  a  dereliction,  the  mate  went  forward, 
muttering  further  and  intense  profanity,  while  the 
captain  went  below  and  Green  aloft.  Green  moved 
slowly  and  carefully  up  to  the  yard,  then  slowly  and 
carefully  down  and  forward  for  the  spike  he  had  pre 
tended  to  forget,  by  which  time  eight  bells  struck, 
and  he  remained  there. 

His  sporting  blood  temporarily  chilled,  Mr.  Good 
let  the  shark  alone  for  the  rest  of  that  day;  but  at 
daylight  next  morning,  it  being  his  watch  on  deck, 
he  looked  over  at  the  monster  and  was  moved  to 
try  again.  He  tried,  and  lost  more  pork.  Then  he 
tried  the  harpoon,  and  lost  his  temper.  Cursing  furi 
ously,  he  ran  to  his  room  and  returned  with  a  re 
volver,  which  he  emptied  at  the  shark;  but,  though 
his  aim  was  good,  the  water  stopped  the  bullets,  and 
not  one  hit  the  big  fish  with  force  enough  to  disturb 
him.  In  a  final  outburst  of  rage  and  profanity,  Mr. 
Good  hurled  the  pistol  at  the  big  brute,  and  then, 
realizing  what  he  had  done,  turned  his  profanity 
inward,  and  rebuked  himself  for  a  fool.  Then  the 
captain,  aroused  by  the  shots,  appeared  at  his  side 
and  joined  him  in  the  rebuke. 

"  Why  will  you  indulge  your  cruel  instincts  in  this 
manner?  "  he  asked,  mildly. 

"  Well,  cappen,"  growled  the  mate,  "  he's  a  cruel 
swine  himself,  and  he's  got  the  best  o'  me.  I've  lost 
my  gun — 'spect  he's  swallowed  it.  He  eats  marline- 


204  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

spikes.  'Twas  a  good  gun,  too.  Cost  me  two  pound 
ten  in  Liverpool." 

"  All  you  had,  too,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  seri 
ously.  "  And  you  dropped  it  while  fooling  with  that 
poor  creature?  " 

"  Wrong,  cappen.  I  flung  it  at  him  after  firm'  six 
bullets  at  him." 

"  Oh,  you  miserable  fool !  And  it  was  all  the  gun 
you  had.  I've  heard  you  say  so.  Now,  what'll — " 

"  Steady,  cappen ! "  interrupted  the  mate,  his  face 
darkening.  "  Don't  abuse  me  before  the  man  at  the 
wheel,  sir.  I  won't  stand  it.  Come  forward  a  bit, 
if  you  please,  and  we'll  talk." 

The  man  at  the  wheel  put  on  the  abstracted  look 
peculiar  to  all  unwilling  listeners,  and  the  captain 
followed  the  mate  to  the  weather-alley,  near  the  poop 
steps. 

"  I  know  what's  in  your  mind,  cappen,"  said  the 
mate.  "  You've  no  gun  yourself,  and  depended  upon 
me  for  any  shootin'  if  the  crew  made  trouble.  Now, 
this  is  a  good  crew,  and  I  don't  need  a  gun  to  handle 
'em ;  but  I  do  need  to  keep  'em  tranquil.  And  noth 
ing  upsets  a  crew  like  a  shark  in  the  wake.  Besides, 
they  wouldn't  know  it  was  my  only  gun  if  you  hadn't 
declared  yourself  'fore  the  man  at  the  wheel." 

"  That's  all  right,"  answered  the  captain,  peev 
ishly.  "  I  merely  object  to  cruelty  to  dumb  crea 
tures." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  cappen,  if  you  don't  let  me 
get  rid  of  that  shark  you'll  have  to  be  cruel  to  sailors. 
I  know  sailors ;  I've  been  longer  'fore  the  mast  than 
you,  sir." 

Few  captains  like  such  comparisons,  especially  if 
they  be  young  and  sons  of  owners.  This  one  was 
very  properly  incensed. 


THE  SHARK  205 

"  I  care  nothing  for  that,  Mr.  Good,"  he  said, 
sharply.  "  I  forbid  you  to  torture  that  poor  fish 
any  more.  You  are  setting  an  infamous  example  to 
those  ignorant  men  forward,  whose  souls,  in  a  meas 
ure,  I  feel  accountable  for." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  damned !  "  said  the  mate,  almost  in 
a  whisper. 

"  You  certainly  will  be,  if  you  persist  in  your  evil 
ways,"  answered  the  captain,  turning  away. 

"  But  what'll  we  do  about  that  shark,  cappen? 
He'll  follow  till  he  gets  a  man." 

"  Feed  him,"  said  the  captain,  turning  half  around. 
"  Feed  him  until  he  is  glutted,  and  he  will  leave  us." 

"  Which  man'll  I  chuck  over  first,  cappen  ?  Green  ? 
He's  young  and  fat." 

The  captain  turned  squarely  around. 

"  Feed  him  pork,"  he  said,  angrily.  "  Strike  out 
a  barrel  of  that  fat  Frisco  pork  in  the  'tween-deck, 
and  feed  him  until  he  is  satisfied." 

"  It's  down  under  three  tiers  o'  lime-barrels,  sir. 
It'll  take  the  whole  watch  half  a  day  to  get  at  it. 
Won't  live  chickens  from  the  coop  suit  him  better? 
I've  plenty  other  work  for  the  men." 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Good,"  said  the  captain, 
sternly. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir !  "  loudly  answered  Mr.  Good.  "  I 
can  do  that,  cappen." 

As  the  mate  had  predicted,  it  took  a  half-day  to 
get  out  a  barrel  of  pork;  and  before  the  work  was 
finished  three  men  had  contributed  various  articles 
to  the  omnivorous  maw  of  the  man-eater.  They 
were  of  the  second-mate's  watch,  for  Mr.  Good's 
crowd  slept  from  breakfast  until  noon.  Big  Bill,  a 
six-foot  "  Sou'wegian,"  too  big  to  be  handy  in  the 
contracted  'tween-deck,  was  sent  out  on  the  jib-boom 


206  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

at  a  tarring-down  job,  while  his  watch-mates  wrestled 
with  barrels  under  the  second  mate.  Ordinarily  Bill 
was  as  sure  of  foot  and  hand  as  a  monkey,  but  on 
this  occasion  he  had  trouble  with  himself.  Mr.  Good, 
who,  too  angry  and  upset  to  sleep,  was  watching  the 
ship  while  the  second-mate  was  below,  observed  Bill 
flounder  down  from  the  jib  foot-rope,  and  a  moment 
later  climb  inboard  and  get  out  of  sight. 

Then  Mr.  Good,  standing  near  the  quarter-rail, 
noticed  a  tobacco-pouch  float  by,  heard  the  swish  of 
a  dorsal  fin,  and  saw  the  upturned  white  belly  of  the 
shark  as  he  rushed  at  the  prize.  Then,  unable  to 
resist  the  impulse,  he  seized  an  iron  belaying-pin 
from  the  rail  and  hurled  it  at  the  shark — but 
missed,  as  before.  He  also  gave  vent  to  the  bad 
language  which  he  thought  fitting  to  the  occasion, 
and  then  heard  the  captain's  voice  through  a 
window : 

"  Mr.  Good,  those  belaying-pins  are  the  owner's 
property.  You  would  not  like  it  if  I  deducted  their 
cost  from  your  pay,  would  you?  " 

"  Oh,  damn !  "  growled  the  mate,  as  he  moved  away 
from  the  window. 

As  the  second  mate  had  given  him  his  job,  Mr. 
Good  did  not  investigate  Bill,  who  "  soldiered  "  until 
four  bells,  when  he  came  aft  to  take  the  wheel.  But 
here  he  questioned  him  mildly. 

"  I  dunno,  sir,"  said  Bill.  "  I  loose  my  tobax-bag, 
und  mine  foot  slip  on  der  foot-rope.  Den  I  think  of 
dot  feller  under  the  stern,  und  next  I  know  I  fetch 
up  on  der  martingale,  sir.  I  yoost  hold  on,  by 
golly." 

"  The  shark  got  your  tobacco,"  said  the  mate.  "  I 
saw  him  grab  it." 

"  By  golly.     I  bet  it  make  him  sick,  sir.     It  make 


THE  SHARK  207 

me  sick,  to  think  of  him  waitin'  for  me.  Ah-ah- 
ah !  "  Bill  finished  with  a  shiver. 

The  man  Bill  relieved — a  German  named  Swan- 
son,  nearly  as  old  a  man  as  Munson — was  told  by  Mr. 
Good  to  fox  off  the  lanyards  of  the  weather  mizzen 
rigging,  recently  set  up — a  job  requiring  tarred  rope 
yarns,  a  marline-spike,  and  a  knife.  Swanson  pro 
cured  his  material  and  went  to  work,  and  when  he 
first  found  occasion  to  use  his  knife  twirled  it  out  of 
its  sheath  with  the  usual  flourish.  But  it  left  his 
hand  with  the  momentum  given  it,  whirled  over  his 
shoulder,  and  landed  on  the  monkey-rail ;  here  it  rat 
tled  and  slid  about,  as  though  imbued  with  life,  then 
fell  overboard.  There  was  the  now  familiar  swish 
of  the  dorsal  fin  as  the  shark  dove  for  the  morsel, 
and  Mr.  Good  remarked: 

"  If  he  takes  that,  he'll  get  the  belly-ache.  Get 
another  knife,  Swanson."  But  Swanson  was  un 
nerved. 

"  It  wass  a  sign — a  sign,"  he  stuttered.  "  A  sign 
dot  I  go,  sir.  Und  Green,  he  go,  und  you — you  go, 
sir.  You  loose  your  pistol  und  Bill — we  all  go,  sir. 
It  wass  a  sign." 

"  More  of  a  sign  that  we  won't  go,  Swanson,"  said 
the  mate,  in  rough  kindness.  "  Go  get  a  knife." 

Shaking  his  head,  Swanson  went  forward  and  re 
mained  there.  As  it  was  an  English  ship,  Mr.  Good 
was  not  impelled  to  follow  and  club  him  aft. 

Limerick,  an  Irishman  of  the  second  mate's  watch, 
had  gone  below  with  rubber  boots  on.  These  had 
distressed  him  in  the  hot  'tween-deck,  and  he  had 
removed  them;  and  to  save  his  socks  from  wear  he 
also  removed  them.  The  result  was  that  his  feet, 
moist  with  perspiration,  slaked  the  loose  lime  scat 
tered  around  from  the  leaky  barrels,  and  soon  be- 


208  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

came  so  painful  that  he  pulled  the  boots  on  for  pro 
tection.  But  the  lime  still  ate  into  his  skin,  and  he 
was  forced  to  come  up  on  deck,  where  he  not  only 
rinsed  his  feet  in  salt  water,  but  rinsed  out  his  boots 
with  fresh.  Then,  after  he  had  donned  suitable  foot 
gear,  he  hung  his  boots  on  the  jib  guys  to  dry,  and  in 
doing  so  one  went  overboard.  The  shark  got  the 
boot;  there  was  no  doubt  of  it.  For,  though  Lim 
erick,  peering  aft  from  the  cat-head,  could  not  see, 
Mr.  Good,  on  the  quarter,  called  the  news  forward. 

"  It  wass  a  sign,  Limerick,"  whined  old  Swanson 
from  the  fore-hatch.  "  We  all  go  by  der  shark." 

"  Sign  be  dommed,  ye  old  bag  o'  bad  news !  "  said 
Limerick,  coming  down  the  forecastle  steps.  "  I'm 
thinkin'  o'  the  cost  of  a  new  pair  o'  gum  boots  from 
the  slop-chest.  If  the  mate  'ud  let  me  aft  I'd  like 
nothin'  better  than  to  give  the  murderin'  thief  the 
other  boot  on  the  head — bad  luck  to  him !  " 

The  barrel  of  pork  was  brought  up,  and  broached 
alongside  the  fore-hatch;  then,  when  Mr.  Good  had 
eaten  his  dinner  with  the  captain — at  which  function 
neither  spoke  to  the  other — he  procured  the  fattest 
chunk  of  pork  in  sight  and  brought  it  aft.  The 
captain  found  it  convenient  to  be  there,  and,  as 
Mr.  Good  dropped  the  pork  over  the  taffrail,  looked 
down  with  the  keenest  interest.  The  shark,  as 
though  appreciative  of  the  effort  in  his  behalf,  made 
more  ceremony  over  this  contribution.  Instead  of 
a  greedy  rush  straight  for  the  gift,  he  backed  away, 
circled  around,  and  then  headed  dead-on.  The  pork 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  white  glimmer  of  the  shark's 
upturned  belly. 

"  That's  what  he  likes,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  en 
thusiastically.  "  Give  him  some  more,  Mr.  Good." 

"  Aye,   aye,    sir ! "   snorted    the   mate.     "  But   he 


THE  SHARK  209 

doesn't  like  it  so  much  as  marline-spikes,  pistols, 
baccy,  and  belayin'-pins,  cappen ;  and  he  likes  sailors' 
legs  and  arms  better  than  all." 

The  captain  raised  his  hand,  and  mildly  said : 

"  Give  him  some  more." 

The  mate  funneled  his  hands  and  sent  a  mighty 
roar  forward: 

"  One  up — and  bear  a  hand.  An  order  of  pork  in 
a  hell  of  a  rush.  And,  say,  cappen,  I'm  not  much 
of  a  hash-slinger,  but  a  mighty  good  head-waiter. 
Would  he  like  some  beans  with  his  pork?  " 

The  captain  made  no  reply.  Mr.  Good  was  an  ex 
pert  seaman,  and  a  valuable  aid  to  one  whose  father 
owned  the  ship.  An  American  named  Thompson 
understood  the  order,  and  filled  it. 

"  You'll  get  no  tips  in  this  hash-house,"  snarled 
the  mate,  as  he  took  the  pork  from  the  grinning 
sailor.  "  Go  for'ard  and  stand  by  for  orders." 
Thompson  departed,  and  Mr.  Good  tossed  the  pork 
to  the  shark.  It  was  bolted  with  the  same  ceremony, 
but  not  so  greedily. 

"Will  ye  have  some  more,  cappen?"  asked  the 
mate,  with  mock  deference.  "  Or  would  he  like 
some  dessert?  " 

"  As  I  said,  give  him  all  he  can  eat,"  responded 
the  captain,  with  what  dignity  he  could  command. 

"  Once  more  on  the  rare  and  the  greasy !  "  yelled 
the  mate ;  and  Thompson  came  aft  with  another  por 
tion  of  pork. 

"  No  question  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Good,  as  he  took 
the  pork  and  dropped  it.  "  That  fish  can  never 
look  a  hog  in  the  face  again,  and  he'll  never  get  a 
front  seat  in  the  synagogue.  Holy  smoke,  cappen, 
he  won't  touch  it." 

The  shark  had  nosed  the  morsel,  backed  away  from 


210  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

it,  and,  as  it  floated  astern,  resumed  his  position  just 
abaft  the  rudder. 

"  Shall  I  give  him  the  latitude  and  longitude," 
asked  the  mate,  with  fine  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  "so 
he  can  find  it  again?  " 

"  Give  him  all  that  he  can  eat,"  answered  the  cap 
tain.  "  Surfeit  him,  so  that  he  will  leave  us."  Then 
he  descended  to  his  cabin. 

But  Mr.  Good  fed  no  more  pork  to  the  shark  that 
day.  Instead,  inspired  by  Limerick's  strong  lan 
guage  when  he  limped  aft  to  the  wheel  at  eight  bells, 
he  did  a  wonderful  amount  of  thinking,  as  little 
compatible  with  his  duties  as  chief  mate  as  was  feed 
ing  pork  to  a  shark.  Limerick  was  in  agony,  he  in 
formed  Mr.  Good.  His  feet  felt  as  though  he  had 
stepped  on  a  hot  stove.  The  irascible  but  kind- 
hearted  old  fellow  called  the  next  man  to  the  wheel, 
and  sent  Limerick  forward,  following  himself  with 
appliances  from  the  medicine-chest. 

While  among  the  men  Mr.  Good  did  his  utmost, 
by  admonition  and  ridicule,  to  counteract  the  influ 
ence  of  the  two  superstitious  old  croakers,  Swanson 
and  Munson,  but  with  little  success,  even  though 
backed  by  the  lurid  irreverence  of  Limerick,  who  was 
willing,  he  averred,  to  go  down  in  a  bosun's-chair 
and  kill  the  shark  with  his  one  rubber  boot. 

Green  made  no  secret  of  his  terror,  and  whimpered 
unrebuked  among  men  who,  as  a  class,  regard  cow 
ardice  as  the  unpardonable  sin.  Swanson  openly 
voiced  his  determination  not  to  leave  the  deck  while 
the  shark  was  in  the  wake,  saying  he  preferred  going 
in  irons  to  the  chance  of  death  after  the  "  sign  "  given 
him.  Big  Bill  was  non-committal ;  but  it  was  ap 
parent  that  he  had  not  recovered  from  the  shock  to 
his  nerves.  And  old  man  Munson  told  yarn  after 


THE  SHARK 

yarn  of  the  turpitude  of  sharks.  The  others  of  both 
watches  shared  more  or  less  evenly  the  sentiments 
of  these  four.  Luckily,  it  was  fine  weather,  and 
nothing  but  routine  work  demanded  that  men 
mount  the  rail,  but  a  gale  of  wind  with  a  demoralized 
crew  would  be  a  serious  proposition ;  and  though  the 
mate  mirthfully  forgave  the  two  old  croakers,  he 
pitilessly  berated  Green,  and  drove  all  hands,  even 
the  crippled  Limerick,  up  the  weather  main  rigging 
to  the  topmast  head  and  down  the  lee  side  before 
allowing  them  to  go  to  supper.  But  the  moral  effect 
of  the  experiment  was  lost  by  a  happening  in  the 
last  dog-watch. 

Though  English,  she  was  a  wooden  ship,  and  needed 
the  daily  pumping-out. .  When  the  watch  was  called 
to  the  pumps  at  seven,  or,  by  English  reckoning, 
three  bells,  a  man  readily  mounted  the  rail  amidships 
to  draw  a  bucket  of  water.  It  was  Thompson,  a 
peculiarly  efficient  man,  steady  of  head  and  hand — 
one  who,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  would  not  in 
dulge  in  horseplay  or  bravado ;  but  a  shark  under  the 
stern  is  bad  for  nerves,  and  Thompson  yielded.  He 
lowered  the  draw-bucket  with  a  flourish,  tilted  it  to 
fill  it,  hove  upward  with  all  his  strength,  and  actually 
pulled  himself  overboard.  As  he  fell  with  a  splash,  a 
cry  of  horror  went  up  from  the  men  amidships ;  they 
sprang  to  the  rail,  and  threw  over  every  rope's  end 
in  reach,  then,  their  anxiety  over  Thompson  dominat 
ing  their  fears,  they  swarmed  to  the  top  of  the  rail, 
ready  to  assist.  But  Thompson  needed  no  help. 
There  was  small  way  upon  the  ship,  and  he  arose  close 
to  the  main  chains.  The  ship  was  rolling  heavily  in 
the  trough  of  a  short  swell,  and,  though  this  may  have 
contributed  to  his  loss  of  balance,  it  was  his  salvation 
now.  Barely  catching  one  iron  bar  with  one  hand,  he 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

was  lifted  out  of  water  by  the  ship's  roll,  and  as  she 
plunged  him  back,  he  caught  with  the  other  hand  and 
swung  his  right  leg  over  the  lower  channel  board. 
Here  he  rested  a  moment,  as  the  ship  again  lifted  him ; 
but  something  brushed  his  dangling  left  foot,  and  he 
frantically  finished  his  climb.  As  he  appeared,  pale 
and  dripping,  among  his  shipmates  on  the  rail,  a 
crunching  sound  was  heard  and  a  man  sang  out: 
"  Great  God,  he's  taken  the  draw-bucket,  rope  and 
all !  " 

Mr.  Good  wisely  ordered  the  wash-deck  pump 
rigged  to  prime  the  main  pumps,  and  the  job  was 
finished,  Thompson  assisting  as  though  nothing  had 
happened. 

Next  morning  Mr.  Good  turned  out  at  four  bells, 
fully  an  hour  and  a  half  before  breakfast-time.  He 
paid  no  attention  to  the  ship,  to  the  wind  and 
weather,  or  to  the  washing-down  of  the  deck,  which, 
under  the  second  mate,  was  proceeding  in  the  cus 
tomary  manner.  He  went  directly  to  the  "  bosun's- 
locker,"  and  equipped  himself  with  palm,  needle,  and 
twine,  which  he  secreted  in  his  pocket.  Next,  Chips 
being  asleep,  he  sneaked  into  the  carpenter-shop  and 
secured  a  hatchet,  which  he  tucked  into  his  trousers. 
Then,  hardly  noticed  by  the  busy  second  mate  and 
his  watch,  he  burrowed  into  the  pork  barrel  and 
brought  out  the  largest  piece  of  greasy  abomination 
that  it  contained.  With  this  he  descended  the  fore- 
hatch,  and  remained  below  until  seven  bells,  when 
he  emerged,  carrying  the  pork,  which  had  increased 
in  size,  and  bore  a  line  of  big-twine  stitching  on  one 
side.  Passing  the  carpenter-shop,  he  again  sneaked 
in  and  deposited  the  hatchet,  then  went  aft,  placed 
the  pork,  stitched  side  down,  upon  a  bit  of  old  canvas 
under  the  wheel-box  grating,  and  peered  over  the 


THE  SHARK  213 

stern.  The  sinister  brute  was  still  there,  bluish- 
green  in  the  morning  light,  inert  but  menacing.  He 
flirted  his  tail  and  moved  forward  a  foot;  then — of 
course  it  was  due  to  refraction — Mr.  Good  received 
a  wink.  Mr.  Good  returned  it,  solemnly. 

"  Not  yet,  you  blooming  son  of  a  ship-owner !  "  he 
said,  softly.  "  Not  yet.  Wait  till  your  friend  is  up." 
Then  he  washed  his  hands  and  went  to  breakfast  with 
the  captain. 

They  were  not  yet  on  speaking  terms,  and  the 
meal  passed  off  in  silence;  but  as  the  mate  rose  he 
said : 

"  Going  to  feed  the  baby,  now.  Will  you  be  up, 
sir?" 

The  captain,  his  eyes  on  his  breakfast,  made  no 
answer. 

"  He  don't  look  well  at  all  this  morning,  sir,"  con 
tinued  the  mate,  edging  toward  the  door.  "  He 
overate  himself  yesterday.  I  don't  think  pork  is 
really  good  for  sharks,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Good,"  sputtered  the  captain,  "  I  object  to 
your  tone.  I  demand  that  you  treat  me  with  respect. 
I  demand  that  you  obey  my  reasonable  and  humane 
wishes  in  regard  to  that  shark.  I  order  you  to  feed 
him — to  surfeit  him,  so  that  he  will  leave  us." 

'  Yes,  sir — yes,  sir,"  answered  the  mate,  meekly. 
"  But  I'm  a  humane  man  myself,  sir.  I  wouldn't 
give  a  poor  shark  what  is  not  good  for  him,  any  more 
than  I  would  a  baby,  sir.  Do  you  think  draw- 
buckets  are  bad  for  sharks,  cappen?  Marline-spikes 
and  belayin'-pins  seem  to  agree  with  him,  but  it  might 
be  the  draw-bucket,  after  all — not  the  pork.  Come 
up,  and  see  for  yourself,  sir." 

Partly  mollified  by  his  mildness,  the  captain  rose 
and  followed  him.  As  they  reached  the  taffrail  eight 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

bells  sounded,  the  watch-below  tumbled  out  of  the 
forecastle,  and  the  second  mate  climbed  the  poop 
steps  to  report  to  his  superior  the  happenings  of  the 
morning  watch  and  be  officially  relieved.  For  the 
moment  all  hands  were  on  deck.  Perhaps  the  mild 
and  humane  Mr.  Good  knew  they  would  be. 

There  was  little  wind,  and  little  way  upon  the 
ship.  The  long,  bluish-green  thing  of  horror  was 
clearly  visible  in  the  smooth  sea  beneath,  and,  as  the 
captain  and  mate  looked  over,  moved  ahead  ex 
pectantly,  his  white  belly  partly  showing  as  he  canted 
himself,  his  wicked  and  wide-open  eyes  watching  up 
ward.  As  they  looked,  a  pilot-fish — the  usual  consort 
of  a  shark — darted  up  to  his  nose  from  to  starboard, 
hovered  a  moment,  and  darted  back.  There  was  a 
streak  of  shade  in  the  water,  a  wave  of  ripples  left  by 
the  dorsal  fin,  and  in  a  second  the  shark  was  on  the 
starboard  quarter,  gingerly  devouring  some  scraps  of 
the  men's  breakfast  that  had  drifted  aft.  Mr.  Good 
shivered,  and  picked  up  the  pork. 

"  He  seems  to  be  hungry,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Well,"  grunted  the  mate,  "  if  he's  hungry,  why, 
he  ought  to  be  fed " — he  tossed  over  the  pork — 
"  but,  as  I  said,  cappen,  I  don't  think  pork  agrees 
with  him." 

The  shark,  as  the  greasy  white  lump  struck  the 
water,  backed  away  a  short  distance ;  then  the  pilot- 
fish  was  seen,  inspecting  the  find,  apparently  with 
approval,  for  he  immediately  shot  over  to  the  nose 
of  his  big  friend  to  report.  The  shark  backed  a  little 
farther,  then  reversed  his  engines  and  went  ahead, 
turning  to  the  right.  He  made  two  complete  circles 
around  the  morsel  before  heading  straight  on,  but 
then  he  made  for  it  with  the  speed  of  a  torpedo-boat, 
turning  on  his  side  as  he  drew  near  and  shooting  half 


THE  SHARK  215 

out  of  the  water  with  the  momentum  after  his  cavern 
ous  mouth  had  enclosed  it.  Then  he  quietly  sculled 
up  to  his  post  just  abaft  the  rudder,  ready  for  fur 
ther  favors. 

"  Give  him  more,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  mate,  resignedly,  "  if 
you  think  pork  is  good  for  him.  But  I  think  it  makes 
him  sick."  Then,  funneling  his  hands,  he  sent  a  roar 
forward.  "  Bring  that  pork-barrel  aft  on  the 
poop ! " 

It  took  most  of  the  watch  to  get  the  pork-barrel 
aft,  and  the  rest  of  the  men,  interested  in  the  pro 
ceedings,  climbed  the  rail  to  observe.  But  by  the 
time  the  barrel  was  deposited  alongside  the  wheel-box 
the  shark  seemed  to  have  lost  interest  himself.  He 
was  moving  uneasily  from  side  to  side,  backing  and 
going  ahead,  as  though  in  quest  of  something.  The 
pilot-fish  could  be  seen  occasionally,  darting  to  and 
fro,  as  though  sharing  the  mood  of  the  shark,  but 
never  approaching  too  close. 

"  I  told  you,  cappen,"  said  the  mate,  solemnly, 
"  that  pork  didn't  agree  with  him.  You  can  see  for 
yourself,  sir,  that  it's  made  him  sick." 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  the  captain.  "  Give  him  an 
other  piece." 

Mr.  Good  tossed  over  another  lump,  but  it  re 
ceived  attention  only  from  the  pilot-fish,  who  drifted 
astern  with  it.  The  big  fish  seemed  more  agitated 
than  ever.  His  movements  were  quicker  and  his 
excursions  to  the  right  and  left  longer.  Suddenly 
he  stopped,  elevated  his  nose,  and  belched  in  air  a 
quantity  of  what  looked  like  soapsuds.  Then 
he  sank  and  shot  away  to  port,  only  to  return  as 
quickly. 

"  Sick,"  murmured  the  mate,  "  very  sick.     I  knew 


216  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

it.  He  ought  to  have  had  some  beans  with  his  pork, 
or  some  belayin'-pins  or  hardware." 

The  captain  watched  with  serious  face.  The 
second  mate  was  beside  him,  equally  observant.  To 
one  side,  held  to  the  poop  by  the  spectacle,  were  the 
men  who  had  brought  the  pork  barrel  aft,  and  scat 
tered  along  the  rail  amidships  were  the  rest  of  the 
crew.  The  shark  seemed  to  appreciate  his  audience, 
for  he  was  performing  feats  of  agility  now  unusual 
to  sharks;  he  was  throwing  somersaults  in  the  air 
and  occasionally  standing  on  his  head. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  asked  the  cap 
tain,  in  mild  wonder. 

"  I  tell  you,  cappen,"  answered  the  mate,  virtu 
ously,  "  that  you've  made  him  sick.  Pork's  a  rich 
diet.  I  wouldn't  be  so  cruel  to  a  poor  ignorant  brute, 
but  you  will,  I  see.  Now  you've  got  this  on  your 
conscience,  sir,  but  my  conscience  is  clear.  I  didn't 
want  to  torture  the  poor  thing." 

"  Give  him  another  piece,"  said  the  captain,  dog 
gedly. 

Mr.  Good  fished  out  a  succulent  portion  and 
flung  it  with  all  his  strength  at  the  shark,  but  missed. 

Again  the  shark  stopped,  elevated  his  nose,  and 
belched  forth  a  deluge  of  white  froth  of  a  thick, 
creamy  consistency.  Then  he  backed  away,  raced 
furiously  around  in  a  circle,  and  repeated  the  per 
formance.  A  black  object  whirled  upward  and 
sank. 

"  By  the  holy  powers !  "  yelled  Limerick,  from  the 
mizzen  rigging,  "  if  that  ain't  me  boot  I'm  a  Dutch 
man  ! " 

Another  violent  outpouring  brought  momentarily 
to  light  several  small  black  objects  which  might  be 
belaying-pins,  pistols,  or  marline-spikes.  But  when 


THE  SHARK  217 

a  rope  whirled,  snake-like,  high  in  the  air,  they  rec 
ognized  the  bucket-rope. 

The  sea  around  the  shark  was  becoming  milk- 
white  and  opaque,  so  that  when  he  dived  he  was  out 
of  sight.  But  he  did  not  remain  long  under  water. 
He  seemed  to  be  seeking  air,  and  would  suddenly 
appear,  shooting  upward  twice  his  length,  to  fall 
with  a  splash  and  resume  his  circlings  and  rushings. 
Then,  after  a  wild  and  furious  rush  far  to  starboard 
and  back  to  port,  he  sculled  quietly  up  to  the  rudder, 
turned  on  his  side,  and  lay  still. 

"  Why,  he's  dead,"  said  the  captain,  as  the  carcass 
floated  astern.  "  Who  would  think  that  pork  would 
kill  a  shark?" 

"Who,  indeed,  cappen?  "  answered  the  mate,  se 
verely.  "  But  care  killed  the  cat,  sir." 

"Well,  well,  I  don't  understand."  The  captain 
went  down  the  companionway,  and  the  men  began 
moving  forward. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Limerick,  wisely,  as  he  low 
ered  himself  from  the  rigging.  "  I  sh'udn't  wonder, 
begob,  if  the  son  uv  a  thief's  insides  felt  somethin' 
like  me  feet.  They  do  say  that  quicklime  be  a  pow 
erful  counter-ir-rytant.  Maybe  he  got  some  lime  wid 
his  pork." 

"Will  you  shut  your  jaw?"  said  Mr.  Good, 
fiercely.  Then,  drawing  near  to  the  man,  the  last  of 
the  crew  on  the  poop,  he  said  in  his  ear :  "  Go  down 
forrard  with  a  broom  and  sweep  up  all  that  lime 
scattered  around.  I  didn't  have  time.  And  keep 
your  damn  mouth  shut,  d'you  hear?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir !  "  answered  Limerick,  cheerfully, 
as  he  turned  away.  "  But  d'ye  know,  Mr.  Good, 
I  feel  powerful  sorry  fur  the  shark.  I  know  just 
how  he  felt,  sir." 


218  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

THE  MUTINY 

WHEN  you  have  been  shipwrecked,  and,  sole 
survivor  of  the  crew,  have  tramped  through 
the  African  jungle  seven  days  on  the  food  you  can 
pick  from  the  bushes;  when  your  clothing  is  in  rags 
and  ribbons,  your  feet  blistered  and  bleeding,  and 
your  stomach  in  a  state  of  unstable  equilibrium,  you 
are  likely,  on  touching  the  coast  again,  to  welcome 
the  sight  of  a  brig  at  anchor  in  the  bay,  and  to  more 
than  welcome  the  offer  of  a  berth  from  a  man  who 
sculls  ashore  at  your  hail,  especially  so  when  he 
imparts  the  information  that  the  nearest  settlement 
is  still  two  hundred  miles  farther  on.  That  is  why  I 
shipped  with  Captain  Bruggles. 

He  was  the  largest  man  I  had  ever  seen — almost 
seven  feet  tall.  But,  unlike  most  tall  men,  his  de 
velopment  was  perfect.  There  was  nearly  a  thirty- 
inch  stretch  across  his  back  from  shoulder  to  shoul 
der  ;  his  arm  was  as  large  as  an  ordinary  leg ;  his  leg 
could  not  have  been  gartered  by  an  average  woman's 
belt ;  and  his  clinched  fist  would  hardly  have  gone 
into  my  hat,  had  I  possessed  one.  Over  this  massive 
framework  of  bone  and  muscle  towered  a  leonine 
head  with  an  uncut  shock  of  coarse,  brown  hair. 
His  face  was  not  displeasing,  but  in  repose  it  took 
on  the  grim  dignity  of  a  lion's ;  and  this,  with  his 
great  size,  gave  him  a  personality  rather  oppressive, 
especially  when  his  steady,  gray  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
you.  He  wore  no  hat,  and  was  clothed  merely  in 
sockless  shoes,  extremely  dirty  trousers,  and  flannel 
shirt — the  latter  unbuttoned,  exposing  a  forest  of 
hair  on  his  chest.  Down  deep  in  this  chest  he  seemed 
to  keep  his  voice,  and  it  came  forth  in  rumbling 


THE  MUTINY 

intonations.  But  his  words  were  well  chosen — those 
of  an  educated  man. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  passage,"  he  said,  when  I  had  told 
him  my  trouble ;  "  but  you  might  as  well  ship  with 
me ;  you  sail  first  mate,  you  say.  I  want  a  mate  who 
can  cook  for  the  crew,  or  a  cook  who  can  navi 
gate  and  keep  the  crew  in  shape.  I  don't  care 
which." 

"  Of  course  I'll  try  it,  captain,"  I  answered, 
eagerly ;  "  but  isn't  it  difficult  for  a  mate  to  boss 
sailors  and  cook  for  them,  too?" 

"  Not  aboard  my  vessel.  Galley's  forward,  but 
the  bill  of  fare  is  simple.  Come  aboard." 

As  I  was  too  exhausted  to  be  of  use  at  an  oar,  he 
sculled  the  boat  out  to  the  brig,  while  I  sat  upon  a 
bow-thwart,  blessed  my  good  luck,  and  studied  the 
craft  I  had  shipped  in.  She  was  about  four  hun 
dred  tons'  register,  and,  judging  by  her  sheer,  the 
tautness  of  her  standing  rigging,  and  a  general 
smoothness,  was  not  very  old;  but  braces  and  hal 
yards  hung  in  bights,  and  there  was  a  week's  work 
for  a  full  crew,  scraping  and  painting.  Truly,  she 
needed  a  mate,  and  I  was  about  to  say  as  much  when 
a  hoarse,  roaring  growl  sounded  from  the  brig,  and 
echoed  back  from  the  forest  on  the  beach. 

"  What  is  it?  "  I  asked,  in  astonishment. 

"  One  of  my  crew,"  answered  the  captain.  "  He's 
hungry." 

I  said  no  more.  He  sculled  rapidly  up  to  the  side 
ladder,  told  me  to  toss  up  the  painter,  and  sang  out : 
"  Hillee  ho,  boy,  on  deck !  Pull  rope,  pull  rope,  pull 
rope !  " 

I  threw  the  coiled  painter  over  the  rail,  and  a  huge, 
hairy  face  with  red  eyes,  wide,  grinning  mouth,  and 
fang-like  teeth  looked  down  on  me.  Then  a  hairy 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

paw  as  large  as  Captain  Bruggles's  hand  caught  the 
rope  and  pulled  it  taut. 

"  Up  you  go !  "  said  he. 

"  Not  much ! "  I  exclaimed,  reaching  for  an  oar. 
"  That's  an  orang-outang,  isn't  it?  And  he's  loose." 

"  They're  all  young  and  tame.  Follow  me  up. 
Leave  the  oar  alone.  There's  no  danger,  and  you 
mustn't  hit  one  unless  he  deserves  it.  That  only 
spoils  'em." 

He  climbed  up  and  stepped  inboard.  I  cau 
tiously  followed,  but  remained  on  the  side  steps  while 
I  inspected  the  deck.  The  big  brute  who  had  taken 
the  painter  had  belayed  it,  and  was  slouching  for 
ward,  looking  back  at  Captain  Bruggles,  who  had 
seated  himself  on  the  mizzen-hatch.  Squatted  on 
deck  forward  and  crouching  over  the  windlass  were 
four  others  of  the  ungainly  beasts,  and  in  a  strong 
iron  cage  amidships  was  a  sixth,  undoubtedly  the 
hungry  one,  for  he  shook  his  bars  and  bellowed 
at  us. 

"  Climb  in,"  said  the  captain.  "  You're  all  right. 
Come  in,  and  I'll  explain  this.  No  doubt  it  looks 
queer  to  you." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  captain,"  I  answered,  a  little 
huskily,  "  I'll  stay  here  a  few  minutes,  until  I'm 
more  accustomed  to  it.  I  can  hear  you.  Is  this 
your  crew — that  I'm  to  oversee  and  cook  for?  " 

"  This  is  my  crew.  I've  trained  'em  from  babies. 
They're  not  able-seamen  yet — that  is,  they  can't 
paint  and  scrape  and  splice  like  a  man ;  but  they  can 
do  twenty  men's  work  shortening  sail,  and  cost  me 
nothing  in  wages  and  very  little  in  grub.  But,  I 
admit,  I  can't  keep  a  mate ;  and  there's  no  good 
reason  for  it,  either.  All  it  needs  is  a  little  nerve 
and  common  sense  and  firmness,  and  a  mate'll  have 


THE  MUTINY 

no  trouble  with  'em.  I  think  you're  the  man  for 
me.  You'll  only  have  to  cook  their  mush  for  'em 
once  a  day,  and  give  'em  orders  same  as  I  do.  My 
daughter  cooks  for  the  cabin.  Got  a  galley  down 
aft." 

"  Your  daughter ! "  I  exclaimed,  in  astonishment. 
"  A  woman  aboard  with  these  brutes  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  bawled.  "  She's  not  used  to  'em  yet, 
and  stays  below."  He  nodded  toward  the  cabin. 
"  By  the  way,  you  must  be  hungry.  Come  down 
below  and  fill  up.  Then  we  can  talk  things  over 
better." 

He  arose  and  approached  the  companionway,  and, 
with  my  heart  beating  painfully,  I  stepped  to  the 
deck  and  followed.  A  growl  of  protest  arose  from 
the  combined  throats  of  the  six,  and  the  prisoner 
rattled  his  bars  furiously.  I  hastened  my  steps, 
looking  back,  ready  to  spring  overboard  if  need  be, 
but  Captain  Bruggles  quelled  the  uproar  by  halting, 
lifting  his  hand,  and  uttering  the  one  word, 
"Hush!" 

He  called  through  the  closed  door,  and  bolts  slid 
back  on  the  inner  side.  When  it  opened  we  de 
scended,  and  I  saw  a  slim  girl  in  the  half-light  of  the 


"  Father ! "  she  sobbed ;  "  oh,  father,  don't  leave 
me  again !  I'll  die  if  you  leave  me  alone  again. 
They  were  crawling  around  looking  down  the  sky- 
light." 

"Were  they?"  he  answered,  sternly.  "And  I 
told  them  not  to.  All  right.  I'll  'tend  to  'em.  This 
is  a  new  man,  going  mate  with  us,  Jessie.  Let's  see 
— your  name's  Fleming,  isn't  it?  Mr.  Fleming, 
Jessie;  this  is  my  daughter,  Mr. — " 

"  Rob !  Rob !     Oh,  Rob !  "  she  screamed,  and  in  a 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

second  I  had  my  arms  around  her,  while  she  kissed 
me  as  I  never  was  kissed  before,  and  most  certainly 
never  expected  to  be  kissed  by  her.  She  was  the 
girl  that  every  man  knows — the  girl  who  said  "  no  " ; 
and  we  had  parted  under  the  moonlight  three  years 
before  at  a  certain  swinging  gate  near  the  end  of 
a  lane  four  thousand  miles  from  this  brig  and  its 
horrible  crew — I  to  go  back  to  the  sea  and  forget,  if 
I  could;  she  to  continue  her  even  life  and — so  it 
seemed  now — to  remember. 

"  What's  all  this?  "  asked  the  father,  sternly,  and  I 
released  her. 

"  Why,  it's — it's  Robert  Fleming,"  she  answered, 
in  some  confusion ;  "  I  told  you  about  him,  didn't  I, 
father?  We're  old  friends." 

"Lovers,  I  should  say,  if  I'm  a  judge.  Well,  no 
more  o'  this.  Young  man,  you  want  a  berth,  I  want 
a  mate ;  but  I  want  no  son-in-law,  and  I  do  want  my 
girl  for  a  while.  Understand  this  at  once." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  I  understand,"  I  said,  while 
Jessie  drew  away  from  me,  "  and  whatever  scruples 
I  had  about  taking  this  berth  have  disappeared.  I'll 
ship  at  going  wages." 

"  All  right.  We  go  down  to  Frenchtown,  on  the 
Pango  River,  for  a  cargo  of  animals,  snakes,  and 
birds — whatever  my  agents  have  collected.  That's 
my  trade — procuring  wild  creatures  to  supply  the 
menageries.  And  as  I'd  been  to  sea  before  I  learned 
it,  I  combine  both  ends.  Your  work,  of  course,  is 
to  stand  watch  like  any  mate,  rig  tackles  for  cargo- 
work,  and,  in  short,  do  everything  that  my  boys 
forrard  can't  do.  You  won't  have  to  cook  for  'em 
long,  because  I'm  training  the  oldest  and  most  in 
telligent  to  light  a  fire  forrard,  and  he  can  soon  cook 
the  mush.  The  rest  of  their  grub  is  fruit,  yams,  and 


THE  MUTINY 

such,  which  they  help  themselves  to.  Here,  I  forgot. 
Jessie,  get  something  for  Mr.  Fleming  to  eat." 

Jessie  had  listened  with  a  strained  look  of  terror 
in  her  face  while  her  father  talked,  and  I  noticed 
how  her  pretty  features  had  changed  from  what  they 
were  when  I  knew  her  at  home ;  she  had  aged  ten 
years.  And  I  did  not  doubt  that  the  aging  process 
had  begun  when  she  joined  her  father. 

She  immediately  began  setting  the  table,  and  soon 
had  a  cold  meal  ready  for  me,  which  I  attacked  as 
a  starved  man  will.  Meanwhile  an  uproar  on  deck 
had  called  the  captain  away  from  us,  and  when  I  had 
eaten  enough  to  be  able  to  speak  between  mouthfuls, 
she  said: 

"  You  must  not  go  in  this  vessel  as  mate.  Insist 
upon  it.  The  last  mate  was  killed,  and,  I  believe, 
the  one  before  the  last.  Father  is  the  only  man  in 
the  world  who  can  control  them.  They  will  kill  you, 
too — they  will  kill  you,  Rob.  And  then — what  will 
I  do?  " 

w  I  agreed  to,  Jessie.    I  can't  go  back  on  it." 

"  Run  away  to-night.  Take  the  boat,  and  take 
me  with  you.  I  am  dying  of  terror.  I  cannot  bear 
it.  Oh,  Rob,  take  me  away  from  this  vessel !  " 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  arms  and  sobbed  like  a 
child. 

"  There  are  wild  beasts  ashore,  Jessie,"  I  said, 
gently ;  "  and  we  would  have  to  tramp  two  hundred 
miles.  You  cannot  do  it.  I  only  shipped  to  be  with 
you.  Wait  until  we  make  a  port.  What  manner 
of  man  is  this  father  of  yours,  anyway,  to  condemn 
a  girl  like  you  to  this  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  man  without  human  sympathy,"  she 
said,  lifting  her  tear-stained  face.  "  He  left  me  at 
home  when  I  was  little,  but  paid  my  way;  and  six 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

months  ago  he  sent  me  passage-money  and  instruc 
tions  to  join  him  at  St.  Louis  on  the  Senegal.  He 
cannot  understand  fear — he  has  never  felt  it;  he 
boasts  that  he  can  conquer  any  wild  beast  in  the 
world  with  his  hands,  and  wonders  why  others  are 
afraid.  He  is  kind  to  me — though  I  tell  him  frankly 
that  I  do  not  care  for  him  as  a  daughter  should — 
but,  when  he  is  in  liquor  he  is  a  fiend." 

"Drinks,  does  he?  I  should  think  a  man  in  his 
trade  would  not." 

"  He  drinks  at  every  port  when  the  work  is  done — 
that  is,  when  all  the  animals  are  disposed  of.  The 
noise  is  frightful,  and  he  is  the  worst — a  greater 
beast  than  any." 

"  I'll  stand  by  you,  Jessie,"  I  said,  as  I  arose. 
"  I'll  get  you  out  of  this  scrape  if  I  can.  And  " — I 
leaned  over  her — "  you'll  stand  by  me,  won't  you — 
you'll  say  yes  instead  of  no?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Rob,  of  course.  Oh,  forgive  me  for 
that.  I  didn't  know — I  thought  you  were  going  to 
stay  home.  I  thought  I'd  see  you  again." 

Her  father's  heavy  footsteps  sounded  on  deck,  but 
there  was  time  for  one  kiss,  and  I  took  it ;  then  he 
called  down  the  skylight  for  me  to  come  up.  I 
obeyed,  noticing  as  I  closed  the  companion-door  and 
turned  to  face  him  on  the  poop  what  I  had  not  no 
ticed  when  I  entered  the  cabin — that  over  the  com 
panion  was  a  steel  cage,  or  grating,  which  could  be 
secured  from  the  inside,  and  that  the  skylight  and 
after  companion  each  held  a  similar  arrangement. 

"  I  put  'em  on  to  satisfy  Jessie,"  he  said,  as  he  ob 
served  my  glance.  "  Now,  come  down  to  the  mizzen- 
hatch  and  I'll  introduce  you;  but,  first,  I  want  to 
know  your  relations  with  my  daughter." 

"  I  met  her  at  home,"  I  answered,  firmly,  as  we 


THE  MUTINY 

seated  ourselves.  "  She  and  my  sisters  were  great 
friends,  and  I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife.  She  de 
clined  at  the  time,  but  reversed  her  decision  two 
minutes  ago.  I  shall  marry  your  daughter  at  the 
first  opportunity,  Captain  Bruggles;  and  she  herself 
will  satisfy  you  that  she  will  not  suffer.  I  am  one 
of  those  rare  men  who  go  to  sea  for  pleasure;  but, 
with  a  wife,  I  will  remain  ashore  and  live  on  my  own 
property." 

"  I  care  nothing  for  your  property,  Mr.  Fleming  " 
— his  voice  was  almost  a  growl — "  but  I  do  for  my 
girl.  I've  waited  twenty  years  for  her  to  grow  up. 
So,  let  her  alone.  I've  warned  you.  Now  we'll  talk 
business.  Get  two  handspikes  out  o'  the  rack." 

A  little  nervously,  while  the  huge  brutes  forward 
watched  me,  I  stepped  amidships  and  secured  the 
handspikes;  he  took  one  from  me,  leaving  me  the 
other,  and  told  me  to  stand  beside  him  on  the  hatch. 

"  You're  to  give  each  one  in  his  turn  a  thump  on 
the  head  after  I  hit  him.  Strike  about  as  hard  as 
you'd  hit  a  nail  with  a  hammer;  it  won't  hurt  'em." 

"  Now,  boys ! "  he  called  to  them,  "  hillee-ho, 
boys  !  Come  talk — come  talk — come  talk.  Hillee- 
ho!" 

"  You  must  learn  my  calls,"  he  said,  turning  to 
me.  "  They're  used  to  'em." 

"  I'll  want  a  little  time  for  that,  sir,"  I  said,  hold 
ing  hard  to  my  six-foot  club.  I  was  a  large,  heavy 
man  myself,  and  had  borne  myself  well  in  a  great 
many  rough-and-tumble  fights,  but  I  had  never 
fought  an  orang-outang,  and  the  sight  of  those  half- 
dozen  monsters  lumbering  toward  me  was  weaken 
ing.  The  smallest  of  the  six — for  the  prisoner  was 
released — when  standing  erect  would  top  my  height 
by  more  than  an  inch,  while  the  largest  nearly  ap- 


226  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

proached  the  giant  at  my  side  in  size  and  weight. 
But  they  were  not  always  erect ;  their  usual  mode  of 
progress  being  a  swinging  walk  on  all-fours,  and 
when  they  would  lift  their  immense  heads  and  shoul 
ders,  bearing  their  weight  on  the  hind  legs,  the  long, 
hairy  arms  would  continue  the  walking  motion,  just 
clearing  the  deck  as  they  swung.  They  stepped  upon 
the  outside  edge  of  the  foot,  the  unsightly  toes  curl 
ing  under,  and  their  lips  would  draw  back  in  con 
vulsive  grins,  exposing  the  yellow  fangs;  then  the 
wide  mouths  would  close  and  an  expression  of  fierce 
gravity  occupy  their  ugly  faces  until  the  next  emo 
tion  prompted  a  change.  They  squatted  before  us 
in  a  row,  breathing  hoarsely  and  blinking  hideously. 

"  Haeckel,"  said  the  captain,  to  the  fellow  on  the 
right,  "  come ! "  The  big  ape  scrambled  toward 
him. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  and  the  blinking  eyes  were  turned 
on  me. 

"  Mate,  mate,  mate.  See,  boy,"  and  the  captain 
pointed  at  me.  Then  he  shoved  his  big  finger  into 
the  beast's  face  and  said,  impressively,  "  Work,  work, 
work."  This  formula  was  repeated  three  times, 
while  Haeckel  blinked  his  respects  to  me.  Next  the 
captain  brought  his  handspike  down  on  his  head 
with  force  enough  to  have  cracked  the  skull  of  a 
Hottentot,  but  Haeckel  only  winked  faster  and 
grinned. 

"  Hit  him  yourself,  now — a  love-tap,  not  too 
hard." 

I  was  very  careful  not  to.  Haeckel  grinned  again, 
and  took  his  place  at  the  end  of  the  line,  fully  ac 
quainted  with  his  chief  officer. 

In  the  same  manner,  gathering  courage  and  con 
fidence  from  the  amicable  grins  I  received,  I  was  in- 


THE  MUTINY 

troduced  to  Darwin,  Huxley,  Tyndall,  Spencer,  and 
Marsh. 

"  I've  named  'em  after  the  leading  evolutionists," 
said  the  captain,  as  we  returned  to  the  poop ;  "  but 
I  doubt  that  they'd  feel  complimented." 

I  was  too  weak  in  my  knees  and  dizzy  in  my  head 
to  ask  whether  he  meant  the  scientists  or  his  pets ; 
the  reaction  of  feeling  following  my  interview  with 
the  brutes  had  come,  and  I  barely  escaped  fainting. 
Jessie's  white  face  and  wide-open  gray  eyes,  looking 
at  me  through  the  skylight — where  she  had  probably 
climbed  to  watch  us — was  what  nerved  me  to  hold 
my  senses ;  for  I  knew  that  I  would  need  all  my  store 
of  courage  and  strength  to  get  her  away  from  that 
brig  and  her  unnatural  father. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  when  we  had  seated  ourselves 
on  the  quarter-rail,  "  it's  utter  nonsense  to  say  that 
animals  can  be  controlled  by  kindness  alone.  You 
can't  do  it.  Their  nature  will  assert  itself  once  in 
a  while.  And,  by  the  same  token,  you  can't  control 
'em  by  severity  alone ;  it  makes  'em  ugly,  and  they 
break  out  when  they  dare.  But,  combine  the  two, 
and  you  have  the  working  rule  which  made  the 
Christian  religion  the  greatest  force  for  civilization 
the  world  has  known — hope  of  reward  and  fear  of 
punishment.  It  will  civilize  a  devil  out  o'  hell." 

"  Practical,  I  admit,"  I  answered,  "  in  your  case. 
But  how  may  a  man  of  my  size  inspire  them  with 
fear?" 

"  They  fear  you  now — all  but  Spencer,  the  one  who 
was  locked  up — and  you  must  see  that  they  continue. 
Never  hesitate  to  strike  if  they  are  ugly,  and,  when 
they  work  well,  praise  them." 

"  How  about  Spencer?  How  shall  I  put  fear  into 
him?  " 


228  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  He'll  be  in  my  watch.  You  will  have  Haeckel, 
Darwin,  and  Tyndall." 

"How  about  Spencer,  when  all  hands  are  up?  I 
must  be  among  them  all." 

"  He's  just  a  little  ugly  lately,  but'll  get  over  it. 
I'll  bring  him  around  myself.  Only,  don't  pick  a 
row  with  him." 

"  No  fear,  captain.  And  will  you  tell  me  how  the 
last  mate  was  killed,  so  that  I'll  know  more  about 
what  not  to  do." 

"  Damnation  !  "  he  growled.  "  Damn  a  babbling 
hussy !  He  was  killed  because  he  was  a  damned  fool 
and  disobeyed  instructions.  Spencer  is  the  oldest, 
and  has  one  privilege  over  the  others — he  gets  his 
mush  in  a  separate  kid,  a  habit  he  formed  when  he 
was  alone  with  me.  You  must  remember  to  give 
him  his  share  before  you  serve  the  others.  The  last 
mate  forgot  it." 

"  Cheerful  prospect  for  me,"  I  said,  rather  bitterly, 
"  when  I  can't  tell  them  apart." 

"  We  won't  sail  till  you  do  know  'em  and  until  you 
know  all  the  calls  and  tricks.  I  came  in  here  to  get 
a  little  sleep,  and  wouldn't  object  to  a  few  nights 
more.  I  stood  both  watches  for  two  weeks — am 
badly  used  up." 

"  Then  the  mate  was  killed  on  this  passage?  " 

"  Two  days  out.     It  was  Spencer." 

"  I'll  take  particular  care  to  learn  Spencer's  face 
and  habits.  That  is,  unless  I  can  make  another  deal 
with  you.  I'll  buy  this  brig  of  you  at  your  own 
figure,  and  give  you  passage  to  the  nearest  consular 
port,  provided  you  drop  your  crew  overboard  and 
help  work  ship." 

"  Have  the  money  with  you?  " 

"  No,  I'll  send  for  it  through  any  consulate." 


THE  MUTINY 

"  No  good." 

"  Very  well,  captain.  I  have  my  choice,  then,  of 
another  trip  in  the  jungle  or  a  berth  here  where  I 
will  probably  die.  I  take  the  chance;  but,  though  I 
mean  to  obey  your  injunction  in  regard  to  your 
daughter  while  aboard,  it  is  only  fair  to  you  and 
myself  that  I  say  now  that  it  is  on  her  account  that 
I  stay.  You  have  taken  her  from  a  quiet  country 
home—" 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind  what  I've  done.  It's 
my  business,  and  she's  my  girl.  Don't  broach  this 
subject  again." 

"  Very  well,  sir." 

"  There'll  be  work  enough  to  keep  your  mind  busy 
here,  without  concerning  yourself  with  my  family 
affairs.  Come  forward,  and  I'll  show  you  how  far 
Spencer  has  gone  in  his  trade." 

He  spoke  dispassionately,  even  though,  being  an 
gry  myself,  I  had  give  him  cause  for  extreme  anger. 
But,  as  I  followed  him,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
this  remarkable  man  had  seldom  felt  the  need  of  so 
cheap  an  emotion ;  one  of  his  size  and  strength  could 
have  his  own  sweet  will  and  way  without  it. 

Just  abaft  the  foremast  was  a  newly  built  bed  of 
stones  and  mortar,  and  resting  on  this  an  iron  tripod 
supporting  a  pot  the  size  of  a  washtub.  Here  we 
halted  and  Captain  Bruggles  sang  out : 

"  Spencer,  come.     Fire,  fire — cook,  cook." 

Spencer  came  from  the  group  at  the  windlass. 
He  was  the  largest  brute  of  all,  though  I  had  not 
remarked  it  in  my  embarrassment  when  being  intro 
duced.  Looking  for  other  characteristics  by  which 
I  might  know  him  in  the  darkness,  I  noticed  the  ab 
sence  of  his  right  ear — possibly  lost  in  some  argu 
ment  with  his  fellows.  As  he  approached  I  drew 


230  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

back,  for  the  monster  rose  up  on  his  legs  squarely 
before  the  captain,  bared  his  yellow  teeth,  and 
growled. 

"  He's  still  ugly,"  said  the  captain,  quietly,  to  me. 
Then  he  drew  his  clinched  right  fist  quickly  back 
ward  to  a  level  with  his  shoulder  and  launched  it  for 
ward,  following  with  a  heave  of  his  whole  mighty 
body.  Never  in  my  life  had  I  seen  such  a  knock 
down;  the  fist,  impacting  on  the  protruding  chin  of 
the  grinning  beast,  lifted  him  off  his  feet  and  turned 
him  nearly  over  in  the  air.  He  came  down  on  his 
head,  floundered  to  the  deck,  and  lay  quiet.  It  was  a 
knock-out.  The  others  jabbered  excitedly,  but  re 
mained  where  they  were. 

"  Now's  your  time,  Mr.  Fleming,"  said  the  cap 
tain  ;  "  get  a  handspike,  say  '  Fire — cook '  to  him 
when  he  comes  to,  and  bat  him  with  the  club. 
You'll  never  have  a  better  chance  to  impress  him." 

I  was  not  anxious  for  the  experiment,  but  pre 
ferred  the  risk  to  the  almost  certain  death  which 
would  come  of  failure  to  impress  Spencer.  I  secured 
a  handspike,  stood  over  the  brute,  and,  when  he 
groaned,  moved,  and  sat  up,  I  knocked  him  back. 

"  Fire — cook !  "  I  ordered,  sternly,  and  the  captain 
repeated  it. 

Spencer  sat  up  again,  grinned  at  me,  and  went 
back  to  the  deck.  When  he  arose  he  blinked,  and, 
without  striking  him  now,  I  again  gave  the  order. 
Blinking  steadily,  he  arose  to  all-fours  and  lumbered 
toward  a  pile  of  boards  near  the  fore  rigging.  Se 
lecting  one,  he  picked  it  to  kindling-wood  with  his 
hands  and  feet.  I  had  seen  feats  of  strength  at  cir 
cuses  on  shore,  but  never,  perhaps,  such  an  awful 
display  of  muscular  force  as  this — unless,  perhaps, 
it  was  that  knock-down.  When  he  had  made  a  pile 


THE  MUTINY  231 

he  carried  it  to  the  pot  and  arranged  it  carefully 
underneath.  Then  he  disappeared  down  the  fore- 
hatch  and  returned  with  a  flint-and-steel  and  a  piece 
of  tinder. 

"  Spencer,"  said  the  captain,  gently,  "  water, 
water." 

The  ape  arose,  grinned  ever  so  slightly,  secured  a 
draw-bucket  and  drew  a  bucketful  from  over  the  side. 
This  he  poured  in  the  pot. 

"  He  don't  like  the  touch  of  water,"  said  the  cap 
tain.  "  When  he  can  handle  it  cheerfully,  I'll  give 
him  fresh  water  and  teach  him  to  stir  the  mush." 

Spencer  was  now  striking  fire  from  the  steel  and 
blowing  on  the  punk.  Soon  it  caught;  he  arranged 
small  slivers  to  feed  it,  added  larger  ones,  and,  when 
the  fire  was  burning  well,  squatted  before  it  with  an 
expression  on  his  face  of  fascinated  admiration. 

"  That'll  do,  Spencer.  Put  out,  put  out,  put  out," 
ordered  the  captain.  The  pot  was  not  heated  yet, 
and  Spencer  arose,  tilted  it,  and  deluged  the  flames. 
Then  he  was  patted  on  the  head,  and  praised — in 
which  ceremony  I,  perforce,  did  my  share. 

"  He  can  light  a  fire  all  right,"  said  Captain  Brug- 
gles,  as  we  walked  aft ;  "  but  when  he  burns  himself 
he  is  apt  to  knock  the  whole  business  overboard. 
Then,  too,  he  must  get  used  to  the  water." 

"  How  do  they  steer?  "  I  asked.  "  Do  they  know 
the  compass?  " 

"  No ;  but  if  you  set  the  course  for  'em  they  can 
hold  her  to  it  fairly  well;  and  steering  by  the  wind 
is  easy  for  'em.  Sometimes,  too,  when  their  nat 
ural  intelligence  don't  tell  'em  what  rope  to  pull, 
you  may  have  to  put  it  into  their  hands.  On  a  dark 
night  a  topgallant  buntline  is  the  same  to  them  as 
a  topsail  buntline.  Of  course,  it  delays  matters  a 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

little,  but  I  make  it  a  point  to  begin  shortening  sail 
early." 

He  led  me  below,  where  I  signed  his  articles  at  the 
bottom  of  a  long  list  of  "  mates,"  and  received  an 
outfit  from  his  slop-chest;  then  he  showed  me  my 
room,  Spencer's  bucket,  and  the  bin  of  meal  for  the 
making  of  mush. 

As  darkness  was  closing  down  I  performed  this 
part  of  my  duty,  cooking  the  mush  in  sight  of  them 
all,  and  with  my  handspike  within  reach;  but  noth 
ing  unpleasant  occurred,  Spencer  coming  at  my  call 
and  blinking  gratefully  as  I  served  him,  while  the  rest 
waited  expectantly,  and  ate  their  portion  together 
out  of  a  wash-deck  tub. 

I  fought  orang-outangs  all  through  the  night,  but 
wakened  in  the  morning  much  improved  in  spirits 
and  vitality,  and  convinced  that  the  only  safe  plan 
of  action  was  to  refrain  from  all  open  communica 
tion  with  Jessie,  to  simulate  the  greatest  interest  in 
my  work  that  was  possible,  and  to  appeal  to  the 
first  consul  or  man-of-war  that  we  met ;  for  Captain 
Bruggles  was  most  certainly  violating  the  maritime 
laws  of  all  nations.  At  breakfast,  when  for  a  mo 
ment  I  was  alone  with  Jessie,  I  outlined  this  plan 
and  she  agreed  to  it. 

The  day  was  spent  in  completing  my  acquaintance 
with  the  crew ;  but,  beyond  a  slight  f retf ulness  at  the 
disagreeable  washing-down  of  deck  in  the  morning, 
there  was  no  trouble,  or  promise  of  it ;  they  evidently 
classed  me  in  with  their  masterful  captain,  and  did 
not  compel  me  to  assert  myself.  Next  morn 
ing  we  weighed  anchor,  set  the  canvas,  and  went 
to  sea. 

To  me,  accustomed  to  see  a  whole  crew  manning 
a  topsail  halyard  and  mastheading  the  yard  to  the 


THE  MUTINY 

music  of  a  chantey,  it  was  an  uncanny  spectacle — 
that  getting  under  way.  There  were  cleats  nailed 
to  the  deck  abaft  the  leading-blocks,  and — three  at 
the  fore,  three  at  the  main — the  monsters  would 
scramble  along  these  cleats  in  all  postures,  some 
times  face  upward,  again  face  downward,  with  the 
halyards  gripped  by  one  hand  or  one  foot,  or  their 
teeth,  while  the  yard  went  aloft  in  jerks.  When  up 
to  its  place  we  nippered  the  halyards  at  the  block 
and  they  stopped  pulling  and  belayed.  All  up-and- 
down  running  rigging  led  through  leading-blocks  on 
deck,  so  that  they  could  use  their  immense  strength 
rather  than  their  mere  weight.  Two  could  sheet 
home  and  hoist  a  topgallant-sail,  one  could  set  a 
royal,  and,  when  it  came  to  stowing  the  anchor, 
Haeckel  and  Spencer  did  it — by  hand. 

The  passage  down  the  coast  was  uneventful.  My 
nervousness  wore  off  after  a  few  night-watches  alone 
with  them,  and  I  found  that  they  welcomed  my  ap 
proval  of  tasks  well  performed  as  they  feared  my 
occasional  demonstrations  with  a  capstan-bar.  But 
Spencer  made  no  headway  with  his  cooking;  in  spite 
of  all  we  could  do,  he  would  not  touch  the  draw- 
bucket  unless  told  to,  and  even  showed  as  great  a 
repugnance  to  carrying  fresh  water  from  the  tank  in 
a  bucket,  though  in  the  morning  washing-down  of 
the  deck  he  took  his  share  of  the  splashing  without 
unusual  protest. 

With  Captain  Bruggles  my  relations  were  serene 
and  even  friendly.  Having  uttered  his  commands 
with  regard  to  his  daughter,  he  seemed  confident  that 
they  would  be  obeyed;  and  as  Jessie  never  left  the 
cabin,  and  I  was  very  careful  not  to  arouse  his  sus 
picions,  my  relations  with  her  had  not  developed  past 
what  they  were  on  our  first  meeting  by  the  time  we 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

had  sailed  up  the  muddy  little  Pango  River  and  an 
chored  off  Frenchtown — a  cluster  of  thatched  huts,  a 
trading-station,  and  a  rickety  wharf.  There  was  no 
government,  no  consulate,  no  post-office,  no  other 
craft  in  the  river. 

Ordering  me  to  rig  cargo-whips  and  strike  out  all 
empty  water-casks,  Captain  B niggles  went  ashore  in 
the  one  boat,  and  I  enjoyed  my  first  long  talk  with 
Jessie,  which  contained  little  of  value  to  this  story, 
except  our  conclusion  that  nothing  could  be  done 
here  in  the  way  of  escaping.  When  he  returned  I 
was  innocently  busy  with  the  work,  and  he  informed 
me  that  various  cages  of  different  brutes,  birds,  and 
reptiles  would  come  off  soon  on  floats.  He  himself 
would  stow  them  in  the  hold,  and  on  the  passage  up 
the  coast  would  feed  and  care  for  them.  That  day 
and  on  the  three  following  natives  from  the  shore 
floated  out  a  holdful  of  large  and  small  cages — 
boxed  in  (I  suppose  to  prevent  excitement  among 
our  crew) — and  I  struck  them  down  the  hatches  as 
fast  as  they  arrived.  What  they  contained  I  could 
not  guess,  but,  all  being  aboard,  we  hoisted  over 
the  prison-cage  amidships,  which  went  ashore  and 
returned,  boxed  in  like  the  others.  There  was  no 
doubt  of  the  occupant  of  this — another  ape.  The 
roaring  and  growling  from  within  and  the  answers 
of  the  crew  were  unmistakable  evidence.  We  stowed 
it  on  the  main-hatch  again,  but  left  the  boards  on 
for  the  present,  while  Captain  Bruggles  clubbed  his 
agitated  pets  down  the  fore-hatch  and  covered 
them. 

"  It's  a  female  of  their  breed,"  he  remarked  to  me ; 
"  and  we'll  have  to  keep  her  closed  for  a  while,  until 
they're  used  to  her  presence." 

Another  cage  had  come  off  with  this  last  load, 


THE  MUTINY  235 

which  the  captain  opened  on  deck,  disclosing  a  four- 
foot  snake  of  species  unknown  to  me,  but  possessing 
the  triangular  head  of  all  poisonous  serpents.  This 
creature,  he  explained,  was  a  rarity,  and,  being  valu 
able,  he  would  stow  it  in  the  cabin — which  he  did,  in 
spite  of  Jessie's  protest.  A  few  other  packages  and 
bundles  came  off,  which  he  also  took  below,  and  I 
surmised,  by  the  odor  of  his  breath  at  supper-time, 
that  there  was  whisky  among  them.  There  was; 
he  was  drunk  before  dark,  and  a  greater  change  in 
a  man  I  never  saw  produced  by  the  stuff. 

His  face  took  on  the  color  of  a  ripe  tomato,  and 
the  sacs  of  flesh  under  his  eyes  puffed  out  and  half 
closed  the  lids.  His  gray  eyes,  darker  from  the  ob 
scuration,  glittered  through  two  horizontal  slits,  giv 
ing  a  hideous  expression  of  ferocity  to  his  face,  while 
his  rumbling  voice  became  an  almost  inarticulate 
growl.  While  I  was  stirring  the  mush  for  the  crew 
he  roared  continually  at  me  from  the  poop,  and  as  I 
could  not  understand  a  word  that  he  said,  and  would 
not  leave  the  supper  to  burn,  my  inattention  brought 
him  forward  in  a  fury  of  rage.  He  collared  me, 
lifted  me  clear  of  the  deck,  and  shook  me  as  a  terrier 
does  a  rat,  then  dropped  me.  I  was  not  injured — 
though  very  angry — and  managed  to  understand  that 
he  would  feed  the  brutes  himself  that  evening.  He 
stirred  violently  while  I  nursed  my  wrath,  and,  when 
the  mush  was  cooked  and  I  had  doused  the  fire  with 
a  bucket  of  water,  he  lifted  the  fore-hatch. 

Up  they  came,  and  as  I  looked  on  their  faces  and 
heard  their  snarls  I  retreated  toward  the  handspike- 
rack,  secured  one,  and  went  aft;  then  calling  to 
Jessie  to  fasten  them,  I  closed  down  the  iron  gratings 
over  the  skylight  and  companions. 

"  There  may  be  trouble  to-night,  Jessie,"  I  said, 


236  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

when  she  appeared  at  the  forward  door,  "  and  I  may 
have  to  jump  over  and  swim;  but,  if  there's  a  gun 
to  be  had  ashore,  I  won't  be  gone  long." 

Her  answer  was  drowned  in  a  storm  of  abuse  from 
her  father.  He  had  filled  Spencer's  bucket  and 
kicked  it  out  of  the  way ;  now,  with  a  large  dipper,  he 
was  spooning  the  last  of  the  mush  into  the  wash-deck 
tub,  and  squinting  viciously  at  me.  But  the  crew 
were  paying  no  attention  to  their  supper ;  they  were 
creeping  around  the  big  box  amidships,  sniffing, 
grinning,  and  growling,  and,  as  the  captain  brushed 
past  them  on  his  way  toward  me,  three  of  them  fol 
lowed  menacingly  a  few  feet. 

"  What  are  you  saying  to  my  girl?  "  he  bellowed, 
as  he  approached.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  let  her 
alone?  " 

"  Captain  Bruggles,"  I  answered,  raising  my  hand 
spike,  "  don't  lay  hands  on  me  again.  I  won't  have 
it.  If  you  were  not  so  drunk  you'd  not  think  it 
necessary.  We'll  have  our  hands  full  with  the  crew 
to-night.  As  for  your  daughter,  I  was  telling  her  to 
fasten  the  gratings." 

"  What  for  ?  Who  told  you  to  drop  the  grat 
ings?" 

"  Never  mind  that  now,"  I  answered.  "  Look  for 
ward — look  at  them." 

My  manner  impressed  him  and  he  turned.  I 
meant  no  trick ;  the  brutes  were  ripping  the  planking 
off  the  cage,  and  two  of  them — Tyndall  and  Spencer 
— were  fighting.  Captain  Bruggles  ran  forward, 
seizing  a  handspike  as  he  went,  and  charged  among 
them.  He  used  his  six-foot  club  one-handed,  as  I 
would  have  handled  a  belaying-pin,  separating  the 
combatants,  and  driving  them  forward  to  the  wind 
lass,  where  they  jabbered  and  snarled  at  him,  and 


THE  MUTINY  237 

rubbed  the  sore  spots;  but  they  were  conquered  for 
the  time.  Then,  telling  them  to  stay  where  they 
were,  he  came  aft  and  finished  the  demolition  of  the 
cage-covering,  disclosing  an  undersized  brute,  a  full 
sister  to  those  forward,  but  only  half-grown.  He 
studied  her  for  a  few  moments,  while  she  grinned 
and  chattered  at  him,  then  he  burst  into  a  roar  of 
drunken  laughter,  and,  slapping  his  thighs,  came  aft 
to  me.  His  mood  had  changed;  he  seemed  to  have 
completely  forgotten  our  quarrel,  and  this  alone  pre 
vented  me  from  going  overboard  to  seek  aid  for 
Jessie  on  shore. 

"  Ain't  it  fun  ? "  he  chuckled,  before  he  had 
reached  the  mainmast.  "  Ain't  she  a  beauty,  and 
ain't  they  all  in  love?  Let's  turn  her  loose.  Come 
on."  He  turned  back. 

"  Captain  Bruggles,"  I  called,  running  after  him, 
"  I  beg  of  you  not  to.  You  will  never  get  them 
under  control  again.  Take  my  advice  and  box  up 
that  cage  again — or  I'll  do  it,  and  you  keep  the  rest 
back." 

It  was  almost  too  dark  now  to  see  the  expression 
of  his  face,  but  I  knew  by  his  steadfast  stare  that  I 
had  angered  him. 

"  You  coward !  "  he  said,  thickly ;  "  and  five  min 
utes  ago  you  dared  face  me,  and  I  thought  I  could 
like  you ;  but  you're  a  coward,  after  all." 

"  Father !  "  came  Jessie's  pleading  voice  from  the 
companion.  "  Father,  do  as  he  advises,  please 
do!" 

"  Shut  up,  you  mincing  trollop,"  he  roared  at  her. 
"  You're  too  sympathetic,  by  Gawd,  you  two."  He 
turned  and  pounced  on  me.  I  had  left  the  hand 
spike  aft,  but  had  I  possessed  it  I  could  not  have 
used  it  after  he  had  seized  me. 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

"  What  is  there  between  you  two  ?  "  he  bellowed 
in  my  ear  as  he  held  me  by  the  arm.  "  Hey !  tell 
me;  what  is  there  between  you?  ". 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  captain,"  I  answered. 
"  There  is  nothing,  and  will  be  nothing  between  us 
while  we  are  both  here.  When  we  get  ashore  I  shall 
want  her  for  my  wife." 

"  You  will,  hey !  Want  her  for  your  wife,  will 
you?  I'll  give  you  a  wife,  by  the  Lord — I'll  give 
you  a  wife !  " 

Struggle  as  I  could,  while  Jessie  screamed  from 
the  cabin,  he  dragged  me  to  the  cage,  slipped  the  bar, 
opened  the  door,  and  thrust  me  in.  Then  he  closed 
the  door  and  rebarred  it.  The  female  snarled  at 
me,  but  made  no  attempt  to  resent  the  intrusion, 
and  I  possessed  myself  of  a  piece  of  planking  which 
lay  half  through  the  bars.  Crazy  with  mingled  fear 
and  rage,  I  jabbed  it  at  the  captain's  face  as  he  stood 
near  the  door,  but  he  dodged  and  drew  back  out  of 
reach. 

"  There's  a  wife  for  you,"  he  said,  with  as  much 
sarcasm  as  his  drunken  voice  would  express.  Then 
followed  a  volley  of  personal  abuse. 

"  Oh,  if  I  get  out  of  here  alive,"  I  answered,  in 
sanely,  "  I'll  kill  you  for  this,  you  devil !  "  Then  I 
turned  to  watch  my  fellow-prisoner.  She  was  pay 
ing  me  no  attention,  being  more  interested  in  the 
movements  of  her  admirers  outside.  They  were  com 
ing  aft  in  a  body,  swinging  their  huge  shoulders 
from  side  to  side,  beating  their  chests,  and  growling 
angrily.  Whatever  may  have  been  their  state  of 
mind  before,  they  were  certainly  in  a  most  jealous 
rage  now,  possibly  at  me,  who  had  obtained  prece 
dence  over  them,  but  directed  for  the  time  at  Cap 
tain  Bruggles,  whom  they  had  seen  favor  me.  The 


THE  MUTINY  239 

giant  Spencer  was  in  the  van,  and  he  made  straight 
for  the  captain. 

"  Back,  boys  !  "  he  thundered.  "  Back ! — go  back ! 
go  back! — go  back!" 

Spencer,  with  a  blood-curdling,  booming  roar, 
sprang  high  in  the  air  and  came  down  on  his  enemy, 
who  staggered  under  the  load,  but  maintained  his 
footing.  Then  began  the  mightiest  single  combat 
which,  I  believe,  ever  took  place  on  earth.  A  full 
moon  was  now  rising  over  the  eastern  hills,  but  there 
was  not  yet  sufficient  light  to  see  clearly  their  out 
lines — only  their  combined  bulks,  surging  back  and 
forth  in  the  shadows,  a  blacker  darkness.  There 
was  no  growling  nor  snarling,  but  a  continuous 
wheezing  in  short,  jerky  notes.  They  reeled  and 
whirled,  sometimes  falling  together  with  a  thud  which 
shook  the  deck,  but  arising  tightly  locked,  and  slowly 
drifted  aft  past  the  mainmast  and  mizzen-hatch. 
Then  I  saw  them  separate,  one  staggering  over 
against  the  rail,  and  I  heard  the  captain's  voice,  in 
thick,  broken  accents : 

"  Jessie,  Jessie,  loose  the  snake ! — quick !  Turn 
the  snake  out  on  deck !  I'm  bitten — crippled !  "  He 
was  sober  now. 

But  his  appeal  was  answered  by  Spencer's  snarl 
of  rage,  and  again  they  clinched.  I  heard  no  answer 
from  Jessie,  and  my  attention  was  drawn  to  my  im 
mediate  neighbors,  two  of  whom  had  locked  and  were 
fighting  as  deadly  a  battle  as  the  other;  the  other 
three  were  fumbling  about  the  cage,  and  my  main 
fear  now — inasmuch  as  the  young  lady  was  watching 
them  with  amiable  curiosity — was  that  they  would 
unbar  the  door — which  might  let  me  out,  of  course; 
but  I  felt  safer  at  present  where  I  was.  Two  of 
them  attempted  it,  but  the  bar  was  keyed  by  a  vertical 


240  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

bolt  which  baffled  their  intelligence;  yet,  fearing  ac 
cidental  success  on  their  part,  I  stabbed  viciously 
with  my  splinter  at  their  hairy  paws  as  they  worked, 
and  the  result  was  satisfying.  Each  uttered  angry 
snarls  of  pain,  and  each,  possibly,  thinking  the  other 
the  assailant,  a  third  murderous  battle  began,  and 
the  female  jabbered  approvingly,  moving  over  to 
ward  the  side  of  the  cage  nearest  the  last  fighters. 
This  brought  her  uncomfortably  close  to  me,  and  I 
moved  to  the  other  corner.  The  cage  was  about 
eight  feet  square,  and  the  bars  were  too  close  together 
to  admit  the  passage  of  a  paw,  so,  unless  my  cage- 
mate  began  demonstrations,  I  was  in  no  danger. 
Though  undersized,  she  was  large  and  strong  enough 
to  have  broken  my  back  with  a  blow,  or  bitten  my 
arm  off,  had  she  cared  to;  but  she  was  docile  and 
happy,  dividing  her  interest  between  the  combats  in 
her  behalf  and  the  remaining  brute  without,  who  was 
improving  his  time  by  getting  acquainted. 

A  terrible  cry  rang  out  from  the  pair  at  the 
mizzen-hatch,  and  at  first  I  could  not  make  out 
whether  it  came  from  Spencer  or  the  captain.  It 
was  a  death-cry,  containing  every  note  of  mental 
and  physical  agony,  and  was  repeated  again  and 
again.  At  last  it  became  articulate. 

"  Fleming !  Fleming ! — Jessie  ! — the  snake !  " 

"  Loose  the  snake,  Jessie,  if  you  can !  "  I  called ; 
and  then,  "  I  can't  help  you,  captain ;  I'm  locked  in." 

The  moonlight  was  stronger  now,  and  I  could  see 
them  huddled  on  the  deck,  still  but  for  the  movement 
of  Spencer's  immense  head.  He  was  uppermost, 
and  his  furious  growls,  coming  half  choked  from  his 
throat,  told  of  his  victory.  The  cries  of  the  captain 
had  ceased,  but  awful  sounds  of  huge  teeth  snapping 
and  grating  and  crunching,  as  the  monster  bit  and 


THE  MUTINY 

burrowed,  made  a  horrid  accompaniment  to  the 
vengeful  snarls.  Then  there  was  quiet  for  a  mo 
ment,  but  for  the  noise  of  combat  forward,  and 
Spencer  lifted  his  huge,  ungainly  shape — a  black  sil 
houette  against  the  white  paint  work  of  the  cabin- 
trunk — threw  himself  into  a  sudden  contortion,  and 
something  passed  over  the  cage,  scattering  warm, 
sticky  drops  of  liquid,  a  few  of  which  struck  my 
hand.  Then,  sounding  his  humming,  booming  roar 
of  challenge,  he  bounded  forward  and  pounced  upon 
the  lovers  at  the  bars. 

I  do  not  know  which  one  it  was,  Spencer  being 
the  only  one  I  had  recognized  in  the  darkness,  but 
believe  that  it  must  have  been  Huxley,  the  next 
largest,  from  the  vigorous  resistance  which  he  made ; 
there  were  a  few  preliminary  blows  with  their  long, 
powerful  arms,  then  they  locked,  whirled  forward, 
and  from  this  on  they  were  indistinguishable  from 
the  others.  Three  separate  struggles  for  life  and 
love  were  now  going  on  before  my  eyes,  but  I  had 
little  chance  to  observe  them,  for  the  female,  angry 
at  the  interruption  to  the  tete-a-tete,  and  evidently 
considering  me  responsible,  was  facing  me,  erect, 
with  mouth  wide  open,  eyes  half  closed,  and  hoarse 
growling  barks  coming  from  her  throat. 

Suddenly  she  extended  both  long  arms  high  above 
her  head  and  sprang.  I  dodged,  and  avoided  the 
direct  impact  of  the  brute,  but  could  not  escape  a 
glancing  blow  on  the  head  from  one  heavy  fist, 
which  sent  me  reeling  into  a  corner.  When  my  wits 
came  back  I  was  crouched  on  my  knees,  still  gripping 
my  splinter  of  wood,  and  with  my  brain  throbbing 
in  a  splitting  headache.  In  the  opposite  corner,  as 
high  as  she  could  climb,  was  the  female,  looking  back 
over  one  shoulder  as  she  clung  to  the  bars  and  whis- 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

pering  excitedly.  In  the  middle  of  the  cage  was  the 
cause  of  her  agitation — the  snake.  It  was  coiled,  and 
its  head  rose  from  the  middle  of  the  coil,  waving  like 
a  reversed  pendulum,  and  darting  forward  and  back 
while  it  hissed  steadily ;  but  it  was  not  threatening 
me,  and  I  regained  my  feet  with  the  hope  that, 
having  saved  my  life  once,  it  would  continue  the 
service,  and  with  this  hope  came  the  hope  that  the 
brutes  without  would  kill  one  another,  when  Jessie, 
if  she  had  escaped  madness  or  death  from  fright, 
could  liberate  me. 

The  moon  was  much  brighter  and  higher  in  the 
sky,  proving  that  I  must  have  lain  at  least  an  hour 
unconscious ;  and  in  this  hour  results  had  come  to 
two  of  the  duelists,  for  in  the  starboard  scuppers 
was  one  quiet  form,  and  on  the  edge  of  the  fore- 
hatch  another.  Either  they  had  fought  to  the  death 
and  separated  to  die,  or  they  were  the  vanquished  of 
two  battles,  the  victors  in  which  had  later  come  to 
gether.  Two  were  fighting  furiously  near  the  port 
fore  rigging,  and  the  other  two  were  aloft;  but  this 
was  a  flight  and  pursuit — not  a  fight.  They  had 
reached  the  foretop  as  I  looked,  and  the  leader,  utter 
ing  grunts  of  pain  and  protest,  reached  for  the  main 
topmast  stay,  and  went  up  it,  hand  over  hand.  The 
other  followed,  growling  menacingly.  Up  the  main 
topgallant  rigging  they  went,  out  the  topgallant 
yard,  up  the  lift,  and  then  straight  up  to  the 
royal  masthead,  where  the  rigging  ended;  then 
they  slid  down  the  main-royal  stay  to  the  fore 
topgallant  masthead,  and  from  this  their  descent 
was  a  zigzag  by  lifts  and  foot-ropes  until  they 
reached  the  top,  when  they  again  started  up  the  main 
topmast  stay;  but  the  pursuer  had  gained  steadily, 
and  just  as  they  were  half-way  up — directly  over 


THE  MUTINY  243 

the  cage — he  caught  his  quarry  by  the  leg.  The 
fight  was  resumed  in  midair.  Hanging  by  one  paw 
as  often  as  two  or  more,  they  swung  about  the  stay, 
tangling  themselves  in  the  staysail  halyards,  striking, 
kicking,  and  biting,  until  one,  with  a  human  cry  of 
agony,  let  go  and  fell,  head  downward.  He  struck 
with  a  crash  on  the  starboard  upper  edge  of  the  cage, 
clung  a  moment,  and  fell  to  the  deck,  wrhere  he  quiv 
ered,  gasped,  rolled  over,  and  lay  still.  Another  was 
dead. 

But  his  death  had  produced  results  within  the 
cage.  Why  the  snake  should  have  held  me  responsi 
ble  for  the  jarring  and  shaking  of  the  cage  when  the 
great  beast  struck  it  I  do  not  know,  unless  it  was 
because  its  eyes  were  on  the  female  in  the  opposite 
corner,  who  was  manifestly  innocent.  It  was  within 
easy  striking  distance,  and  chance  alone  saved  me, 
my  splinter  of  wood,  held  before  me  like  a  cane,  re 
ceiving  the  impact  of  its  open  jaws  as  it  launched 
toward  my  leg.  It  writhed  about  the  flooring  for  a 
second  or  two,  then  coiled,  lifted  its  head  for  another 
spring  at  me  and — went  down  under  the  blows  of  my 
stick.  I  nearly  decapitated  the  reptile  with  the  first 
sweep,  and  followed  up  my  advantage  until  it  ceased 
to  writhe,  by  which  time  I  was  in  a  nausea  of  fear, 
trembling  in  every  limb,  and  wet  with  perspiration; 
for  I  had  not  bettered  matters.  But,  as  the  orang 
outang  opposite  slowly  descended  the  bars,  I  des 
perately  imitated  the  hissing  of  the  snake,  and  she 
scrambled  up.  So  hope  again  rose  in  my  heart.  I 
kept  her  there  by  hissing,  and  by  occasionally  mov 
ing  the  dead  snake  with  my  stick. 

A  loud,  wailing  shriek  sounded  from  the  two  at 
the  fore  rigging.  They  were  huddled  on  the  deck, 
and  I  did  not  doubt  that  one  had  felt  the  death-bite. 


DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

Again  it  rang  out,  echoing  among  the  hills,  and  again ; 
then  there  was  silence,  but  for  that  horrid  crunching 
sound,  and  at  last  one  of  them  arose,  just  in  time  to 
meet  the  descending  weight  of  the  victor  up  aloft — 
who  had  descended  the  stay  to  the  dead-eye  and 
sprung  at  him  from  the  rigging. 

Fervently  hoping  that  they  were  evenly  matched, 
and  that  this  last  battle  would  be  a  draw,  ending  in 
death  for  both,  I  watched  them,  hissing  the  while, 
as  they  lunged  and  careered  along  the  deck.  But  it 
was  not  to  be ;  one  of  them  was  Spencer,  as  I  knew 
by  a  momentary  inspection  of  the  right  side  of  his 
face  as  they  passed  the  cage,  and  the  other  was  cer 
tainly  not  Huxley,  the  next  in  prowess,  for  Huxley 
must  be  the  one  beside  the  cage.  It  was  one  of  the 
others,  and  though  once,  perhaps  twice,  a  victor  that 
night,  he  had  no  chance  with  the  giant  Spencer. 
This  struggle  was  short ;  it  ended  at  the  main  rigging, 
where  they  fell  in  a  heap,  and  it  ended  as  had  the 
others,  with  the  fearful  cry  of  agony,  the  choked 
growling,  and  the  crunching.  Then  Spencer,  sur 
vival  of  the  fittest,  arose  to  his  feet  and  roared  his 
challenge  to  the  universe — the  booming,  humming, 
barking  growl  of  an  angry  orang-outang;  and,  with 
hysterical  flightiness,  I  answered  with  my  hiss — to 
which  he  paid  no  attention. 

He  came  toward  the  cage,  pouncing  upon  and 
mangling  the  body  of  Huxley  for  a  few  moments  on 
his  way,  and  squatted  before  the  female,  jabbering 
hoarsely  and  pawing  the  bars  with  his  huge  hands. 
What  impression  he  made  upon  her  was  beyond  my 
understanding;  but  she  chattered  in  return,  and  at 
last,  as  though  understanding  her  fear,  he  stalked 
slowly  around  the  edge  to  my  corner,  grinning  hid 
eously.  I  picked  up  the  dead  snake,  wriggled  it  in 


THE  MUTINY  245 

the  air,  hissed  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  and  poked 
the  battered  head  of  the  reptile  through  the  bars. 
Spencer  sprang  six  feet  away,  then,  making  a  detour 
along  the  rail,  returned  to  the  safer  side  of  the  cage, 
where  he  squatted  and  began  the  grimacing  and  mum 
bling  and  jabbering  of  simian  courtship. 

And  thus  I  passed  the  rest  of  that  horrid  night, 
keeping  the  female  in  order  by  occasional  hissing, 
but  making  no  strong  impression  on  the  doughty 
Spencer.  I  called  repeatedly  to  Jessie,  but  was  not 
answered  until  daylight  broke,  and  then  came  a 
voice  which  I  did  not  know  from  the  companion: 

"Rob,  are  you  there?" 

"Jessie!"  I  answered,  joyously;  "yes,  I'm  all 
right  for  the  present.  Don't  come  out.  I've  got 
the  female  under  control  with  the  dead  snake,  and 
they're  all  dead  but  Spencer.  How  are  you?  How 
have  you  made  out?  " 

"  Where  is  father?  Oh !  "  she  screamed,  "  it's  hor 
rid.  They've  killed  him,  Rob.  What  wiU  I  do? 
What  can  I  do?" 

I  looked  aft,  and  in  the  gathering  light  made  out 
the  headless  body  of  Captain  Bruggles  alongside  the 
mizzen-hatch,  and  knew  then  what  had  passed  over 
my  head  early  in  the  night. 

"  Don't  look,  Jessie  I  "  I  called.  "  Go  below,  and 
some  of  the  natives  may  come  out.  They  must  have 
heard  the  noise." 

"  I  loosed  the  snake,  Rob,  when  father  told  me  to, 
and  then  I  fainted,  I  think.  What  has  happened?  " 

"  They've  killed  one  another — all  but  Spencer  and 
the  female.  Don't  come  on  deck.  Some  one  will  be 
off  soon  from  shore." 

She  said  no  more,  and  I  watched  the  antics  of 
Spencer.  His  grotesque  grimacing  seemed  to  fail  of 


246  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

satisfactory  results — even  though  every  square  inch 
of  his  hairy  body  was  damp  with  the  clotted  blood  of 
his  rivals,  he  could  not  win  the  favor  of  the  fright 
ened  young  lady  in  the  cage.  She  paid  more  atten 
tion  to  the  snake  than  to  him,  and  maintained  her 
position  of  safety,  high  on  the  bars.  At  last  Spencer 
changed  his  tactics ;  he  began  to  "  show  off." 

Attacking  the  pile  of  boards  at  the  rail,  he  pro 
duced  a  good  supply  of  kindling-wood,  which  he  ar 
ranged  under  the  iron  pot;  then,  procuring  the  flint- 
and-steel,  he  started  the  fire;  but  he  neglected,  as 
usual,  to  fill  the  pot  with  water  to  the  result  that 
y/hen  he  had  enthusiastically  piled  on  the  fuel,  the 
pot  became  red-hot.  And  still  he  worked  insanely, 
launching  whole  boards  at  the  flames,  and  creating, 
perhaps,  the  most  successful  fire  that  he  had  ever 
seen.  Jabbering  and  grunting,  and  occasionally 
scampering  to  the  cage  to  welcome  the  first  signs 
of  approval,  he  soon  had  a  roaring  bonfire  which 
ignited  the  tarred  mainstay  and  the  staysail  just 
above.  A  flickering  flame  crept  up  to  the  main 
mast  head,  and  I  knew  that  the  brig  was  doomed. 

"  Water,  Spencer !  "  I  called,  loudly  and  peremp 
torily.  "  Water ! — draw  water  !  " 

To  this  day  I  do  not  know  why  that  excited  brute, 
possessed  as  he  was  by  primitive  instinct  and  pas 
sion,  obeyed  my  order.  It  may  have  been  reason, 
but  I  doubt  it.  It  may  have  been  the  force  of 
habit,  yet  he  hated  water;  but  whatever  the  motive, 
he  obeyed  me.  He  seized  the  draw-bucket,  lowered 
it  over  the  side,  and  brought  it  up  brimming.  This 
he  launched  at  the  fire.  It  struck  the  red-hot  pot 
squarely,  and  the  result  was  a  shattering  of  the  re 
ceptacle  to  pieces,  some  of  which  went  one  side,  some 
the  other,  and  one  of  which  dropped  on  Spencer's 


THE  MUTINY  247 

toes,  sending  him  forward,  howling  with  pain.  The 
others  burned  their  way  into  the  deck,  and  flames 
sprang  up,  ate  their  way  to  the  rails  and  fiferail,  and 
crept  aloft  on  the  tarred  rigging.  Spencer  remained 
forward,  grunting  over  his  sore  foot,  and  soon  there 
was  a  roaring  barricade  between  us.  The  female 
turned  her  back  to  the  heat  and  would  have  descended, 
but  I  remonstrated  with  the  dead  snake  and  per 
suaded  her  to  remain  where  she  was. 

"Jessie!"  I  called.  "Jessie!  come  out  now — 
quick !  " 

She  showed  herself  at  the  door  and  answered  me. 

"  Come  out,  and  slip  the  bar — quick !  It's  all  safe 
now.  Spencer  can't  get  aft,  and  this  one  is  afraid  of 
the  snake.  There's  no  danger  now,  only  from  the 
fire." 

She  opened  the  grating  and  came  out  of  the  cabin, 
looked  at  each  dead  body  on  the  deck,  and  crept  for 
ward  to  the  cage. 

"  Lift  out  that  bolt  in  the  bar,  Jessie,"  I  called, 
encouragingly,  for  she  was  tottering,  "  and  then  run 
aft  to  the  taffrail — to  get  into  the  boat  when  I  join 
you." 

She  did  so.  I  moved  toward  the  door,  shaking 
the  snake  at  the  female  and  hissing  her  out  of  my 
way,  and,  when  Jessie  had  sped  aft,  I  opened  my 
prison  and  closed  the  door  behind  me.  Then  I 
thought  for  a  second  or  two,  and  obeyed  a  prompt 
ing  that  I  am  not  ashamed  of  to  this  day.  Jessie 
was  perched  upon  the  taffrail,  ready  to  slip  down 
into  the  boat  towing  astern ;  she  was  safe,  and  so  was 
I,  with  that  potential  snake  still  in  my  hands.  I 
opened  wide  the  door  and  hurried  aft. 

Jessie  was  in  the  boat  before  I  reached  the  taffrail, 
and  when  I  descended  on  two  parts  of  the  painter — 


248  DOWN  TO  THE  SEA 

so  as  to  be  able  to  slip  it — I  found  her  in  a  dead 
faint. 

"  No  wonder,"  I  mused,  as,  while  the  boat  drifted 
down  stream,  I  dashed  water  in  her  face.  But  when 
she  opened  her  eyes,  and  smiled  weakly,  and  called 
me  by  name,  I  knew  that  sanity  was  left  her. 

"  Look  at  the  brig,  Jessie,"  I  said,  as  I  lifted  her. 
"  There's  Spencer  out  on  the  jib-boom,  and  the  fe 
male  on  the  spanker-boom.  It's  a  horrible  court 
ship." 

.But  she  would  not  look;  instead,  she  stared  down 
stream,  and  I  followed  her  gaze. 

Rounding  the  next  point  in  the  river-bank  was 
a  French  schooner-of-war — one  of  the  slave-trade 
police  of  the  African  coast — and  from  her  peak 
floated  a  homeward-bound  pennant. 


THE    END 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


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LD  21-100m-6,'56 
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Berkeley 


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